Poem: She’s Always Watching

She’s always watching—
Freedom Freeda at the window,
where the breeze lifts the curtains
like questions without answers.

Every leaf becomes a whisper,
a footnote from the trees—
and she reads them all,
eyes tracing the margins of the wind.

She doesn’t speak,
but silence bends around her,
gathering stories in the folds
of her worn shawl,
as if time still answers to her name.

She sees the boy with scuffed shoes
kick a stone down the road
like a rebellion in miniature.
She sees the sky
holding back its storms.

They say she was born
when the chains broke,
or when someone first said no
and meant it with their whole life.

But now she only watches—
not because she cannot move,
but because movement needs memory,
and she is all memory.

Freedom Freeda, sentinel in stillness,
marking each moment, the world dares to change—
watching not just the wind,
but what it carries.

Thank-you for reading.

Many blessings to all.

Much love and light,

Brenda Marie