All these women
who have found their own voices;
some in mini-skirts
or muscle shirts with bold tattoos,
the asperity of age,
the wondering silken glow
of teenage seekers,
the dreadlocked permaculture amazons
hoping for longevity,
the mothers in crumb-filled vans
and loud rages
… admiration rises,
a deep appreciation for the sound
of freedom dancing.
The tinkling of icicles;
envy and regret
slip from my shelter
as I feel behind me
for gumboots.