She rests under the cape of her maker -- the lines in which she was drawn are at one with the earths fibres, uninhibited - alive - diamonds in the breath of her lungs - she is indeed a fire ball of purpose, not loud, not quiet but her hair has looped itself around the stars and she knows that without a doubt she doesn't have to dance to the song that earth resounds ---  her ear in tune with only the beat that's been created just for her by the hands of her maker ---- He, the most glorious story maker of all time. She smiles, her eyes sparkle and her temperament mysteriously entails that cheeky stance that says "I know truth" as she sips another cup of pink rose water and carries on about her day.