The Empress
Seated Among the Ripening Grain
I sit where the earth offers its bounty — and its truth.
I am not carved from stone, but coaxed from soil and season. My voice hums with the pull of tides and the ache of roots seeking water. I do not teach, but remind — with pomegranates split open, with vines that bind and bloom. My lap holds the weight of what is coming to life, and what must one day return.
What I'm Into: pomegranate seeds, the hush before harvest, vine-woven crowns, figs at their peak, the pulse of growth
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