The Oracle’s message is melancholic (as it often is) and completely appropriate.
Beneath the crushing heat
of torpid walled nights
far from the forest languor of pooled shade
moon-petaled lakes mirror smooth
dreams whisper of rain from skies
pale blue washed sweetly
of clinging clouds of sweat
~I beat grey wings~
soar light as pigeon feathers
as morning mist on a southern sea
woman of water wading
treading distant air with phantom steps
girl quick and eager as memories
shining like the ripe peach
just out of reach.