White-Haired Woman

She floats effortlessly through my life, attached as if she were my right hand or left knee, an ear or an eye; a part of me never meant to be severed. I refer to her as my White Rabbit, and like Alice, I follow her into my own private Wonderland. Once there, I do not play croquet with the Queen or drink tea with the Mad Hatter or chat with the Cheshire Cat or nap with the Door Mouse, for I am each of them and none of them simultaneously and separately. As I struggle to understand my part in this chaotic life, I see her long locks of white hair and rush to ask her for a key only to find that she has lead me gently to the other side of my subconscious.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***