Here is a story told to my imagination by my barefoot muse, "La Gitana".  She came to be, in my minds eye, approximately ten years ago.  I describe her below as she truly is.  My constant, spiritual, creative, companion.
And so...... let the tale begin......
          La Gitana,  the barefoot muse,

dwells in a beautiful gypsy wagon, far, far away from the caravan. Here, in this magnificently bejeweled, tiny but regal,  most honored temple, she enjoys her consecrated life.  This is her shrine. A place decorated by the fairies themselves. Gilded through and through in the spectral colors that are the northern lights, and if you listen closely, you will hear the music of the spheres wafting melodiously from inside.  At night, this hallowed wagon gracefully transitions into a mystical silhouette, displaying itself fantastically against the moon....a moon...framed within an onyx black, diamond studded sky.

When morning arrives, my muse takes leave of her abode to stroll along the shore, savoring oysters, collecting the pearls from within, picking shells, driftwood, and flowers, seaweed and coral. She takes such delight in her chores. Her eyes memorizing the intoxicating hues of a turquoise sea. She inhales the perfumed air, the warm, baked smell of summer. Her oxygen extracted from the brightly scented emerald greens that shimmer on an ocean in accordance with the Sun.
Here, in this land of abundance -this land of enumerable treasures, where gifts from nature form a plethora of miracles, all  for the taking.........
here, the place where she was born.

A marvel to behold, disguised at first, as veiled, prismatic smoke, rising up from an intricately chambered, multi spiraled nautilus.
Her mere existence....an embodiment of all those things that bring forth perfect harmony 
and........ she breathes into me.

She wears the sheerest of linens and lace.  So light are they, the fabrics whip and dart like sails, or kites playing about with the laughing wind.
She sings lilting lyrics, as she sacredly performs her rituals, glorifying the dawn, blessing the night, painting the day, and...........
she breathes into me.

Her bracelets, her earrings, her anklets, all conducting a cosmic symphony that deaf ears can hear; whose musical notes blind eyes can read.  She swirls, she spins, and she dances, always in her bare feet.........and.......always......
she breathes into me.

She urges me to taste the tangy salt of the waters, from whence we all come. It collects on my lips, brought by the mist, carried by the the breezes that so gently caress my face with the flavor of deep blue velvet.

She amuses herself as she blows sparkling glitter, those minuscule crystals that form the sands that created the shores,  back during a time before time..... into my mind, into my eyes, into my heART.........
she breathes into me.

For my ornamentation, she weaves coronets.  Crafted from the finest gifts born of the heavens and the earth.  She entwines into them the highest knowledge, and wraps around them the beauty and the honor of  living true.  She places these upon my head, and.........
she breathes into me.

Onto my very own feet she rubs oils pressed from roses, gardenia, and jasmine,
sweetly scented by the petals, a potpourri of all that is pure,
and.... she breathes into me.

My hands,  my hands.  Those she convinces me are butterflies in glorious attire. They flutter about tickling my imagination with their wings; releasing a magical pollen while penetrating my senses, my soul, my being.  I watch, fascinated, enchanted, enthralled,  I am captured in awe beyond worldly comprehension.............and all the while...................
she breathes into me.

The gypsy wagon photos were found on flickr, Auguskirk photoslides

the muse who does not need eyes by which to see...........mine.

                                                                     la gitana