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“That child would forever play in the gardens and dance with the rain. The child who would bury her face into lilacs and roses and blooms of hyacinth, and breathe in their sweet perfumes. She could ride on the wind and bathe in the stars. She who danced beneath the moon hearing music of her own as she ran through the shadows of the forest. The same child who scaled barefoot the cliffs of her glen and stripped her clothes off to stand naked in the rain while she gazed out over the waterfalls. (c)” — Angela B. Chrysler
That child would forever play in the gardens and dance with the rain. The child who would bury her face into lilacs and roses and blooms of hyacinth, and breathe in their sweet perfumes. She could ride on the wind and bathe in the stars. She who danced beneath the moon hearing music of her own as she ran through the shadows of the forest. The same child who scaled barefoot the cliffs of her glen and stripped her clothes off to stand naked in the rain while she gazed out over the waterfalls. (c)