Some Chance and All Miracle

 When the girl came into her own, it was not a withering subtle thing. It was strength and mischief and fierceness - all beauty. 

    The source was everything, like any kind of bloom, with magnanimous worms, warmth and wetted cold, bees. For her, a balance of love and fear, both conquered. The wander encouraged. The critical eye unyielding, except sometimes. All as painstakingly nurtured as though she were one of those flowers burst out of seeming nothingness, though most of it done through circumstance and fortitude.

    Forged by some chance and all miracle, she bloomed.

        

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