How sensuous was the wind tonight, a twining serpent moving over my body. How quiet the air felt, still beneath the fluttering movements that ripple along my the edges of my pjs, that graze my hair. I cannot help but turn my head as if to lay it on the hand of the wind, and find comfort in its soft embrace. As I sit in a darkened room, from my fingers wafts the unmistakable odor of henna, pungent as the decaying earth, vines and leaves cascading over my hands, and I cannot help but feel symbols under my skin, moving through my thoughts like an ancient sea creature sliding through the waters of my mind. It's an alchemist's sky tonight, filled with the unnameable longing of transformation. The week has been conflicted on many levels for me, and the music is a desire that I cannot seem to name nor place. I hear the echos of it ringing, but cannot seem to find the paths to come upon it, cannot be satiated. I feel the yearning of it deep within the cells of my body, and crave the release, but cannot find my way to it. So instead I stand outside within the circle of stars and open myself to the wind. The wind, singing, the wind calling, the wind giving substance to my desire.