Earth Mother

 

An earth mother leans in a relaxed, prepossessing manner against the wooden table abutting one wall of a cozy, dimly lit massage room. Her blue eyes, clear behind red-rimmed glasses, are accentuated by her blue cotton over-shirt which falls to mid-thigh level. Her belly and hips are full. She stands solidly supported by tall legs covered in black leggings which end in long feet ensconced in sandals. Her chestnut hair is twirled into a thick braid which lays gracefully down her upper back. Her hands are confident as she begins by holding the heels of my bare feet up off the massage table. She moves methodically up and around my body, assessing and healing by the restorative laying on of her large, warm hands. She ends again with my feet. Myofascial release, she calls it. It’s earth mother magic to me.