She takes the wind in hand
And scatters rain
Leaving footsteps on mountain faces.
She speaks life and storms
And whispers gently.
Reckon not with her
Nor call her lovely
But see beyond her eyes
Into her mind.
She knows the wildest fury
Of the city
Lit at night with energy and dreams.
She takes in hand the bedtime tale and gavel
Peeling off her shoes
To walk the stone-cold floors of office hallways.
Reckon not with her
Nor call her soft
But see beyond her leadership
To her soul.
postscript
For day 24. Women are complicated, and infinitely more than pretty.