Ode to the Warrior Spirit, to Laury

ALCHEMY *noun*a seemingly magical process of transformation, creation, or combination. A true warrior, by spirit, is an alchemist, by deed. With a sharp enough mind a sharp enough blade a warrior makes one into two—as if by magic. In the laboratory of battle, the warrior transmutes bravery to victory: the unseen to the seen. With precise, pointed ferocity, the warrior turns tyrants to fertile soil for seeds that will sprout and grow under the peace of a watchful sun into free people, free cities, freedom for generations to come. Though the sun has set on the times of old, the warrior spirit of our ancestors lives on, manifesting in many forms befitting the battles we face today: warriors of love, athlete warriors, poet warriors....warriors of care and compassion, warriors that heal, wanderer warriors, warriors who pledge their souls to Mother Nature, and countless more, wielding not swords, not instruments of war, but their wits, persistence, and their singularly unique ways of being. But they are alchemists, all, like a warrior I know, called Laury. This watchful warrior is one of vision, of seeing, of discernment. Her perspective is wide—it scans the horizon, the world stage, savoring sights unseen by the unmindful masses, piercing even the rising sun to the farthest reaches of the East, steeping in the elegance of distant dramas like the finest tea. And still, your gaze spans further until it wraps the very world like the warm embrace of a donated sweater—unseen amongst its brethren, hanging together in suspense until you sift through them like a book, finally finding your perfect page by the virtue of your thrifty mind, and by your generosity—providing these misfits of true quality a place to be, a hore, to live in harmony and wonder, together with your other hard won pleasures and treasures: to some, the stars, appearing mere miniature flames, are small nothings; to you, Laury, the watchful warrior, the alchemist: every grain of sand turns to a world, every star to a sun.