and She was God

I had seen God, and it was Mrs. Moyo.
The way her long limbs moved gracefully, as if willing the air around her to stop and bend to her command.
Her dark skin which she adorned with gold bracelets, necklaces and earrings, the way in which they caught the sun, absorbing its light, drinking it and shining out of her dark, almond shaped eyes.
Her hair hung around her head like a halo- no, a crown. Soft like wool, dark interwoven with grey, like a storm about to break. It stood high and majestic, defying gravity, rejecting custom, embracing the glorious coils in which it sprung.
She wore cloths which hung on her frame like air, like the water, like the sky at dusk and at dawn. They flowed behind her like blazing trails of the softest, most beautiful fire I had ever seen.
Every step she took was as if the earth below had sighed underneath her caress. She smiled like she knew the beginning and the end, the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. Her voice felt like velvet, yet like silk, like thunder and yet like the softest brass bell. She laughed in symphonies, melodies written by each heave she took.
In her delicacy, she was firm. She stood strong in her willowy frame. She made us laugh and cry, she brought with her a tragedy in joy one could not describe but sang out with all their heart.
She was the wind, the waves, the soil, and the flame. She was SHE, she was Woman, she was God.

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