voices spring from my head, reminding me that i am not alone. the voice of women past, strong-willed and powerful through all the torture give me strength. the voice of today’s fighting women give me comfort.

fresh-eyed and excited, the young girls play in the schoolyard. as i watch them mature, i cannot hold back the tears, the only sign of life present on my hardened face. to them life is nothing but fun and games; they have no responsibilities and are free to explore every curiousity they can imagine; they are invincible.

like new england, a women’s life is represented by the passing of seasons. spring, the time of birth, color and excitement. everything is pure and beautiful, carefree and wonderful. there are no questions, only happiness.

next comes summer. the sun of peers and family wears hard on a young girl’s morale. everything is intense and hard to bear. every part of a girl’s body screams to be free of the pain and suffering. she is pure fire.

but the fire of life cannot last. soon, it is too much and autumn creeps in. all that could fight slowly starts to wither and fall away. she becomes colder and harder. her beauty and excitement fade.

by then it is too late; winter has arrived and the woman is no longer full of fire and life. everything is cold and harsh, the world is miserable. slowly, she waits to pass away, waits for her time to come because it is no longer worth the effort.

“how can we stop this progression?” i wonder as i rock in my chair. it has been so long since i have just enjoyed life and froliked with joy. if only the girls knew where they were headed… if only i had known.