She catches your attention with her almond shaped eyes and her knowing deep stare. Her pause allows you to realize that in her silence, she is reading you like words on a page, a book being digested and remembered.Her beauty is clean and natural. Eyelashes full without the elements of the world bought by the constraints of the glittered and staged society.There is no smile visible to your complacent and expected minds eye. Her display of happiness is as it has always been, kept in the sacred folds of her hidden temple where she dwells, her heart, the heart she hides from the world that has misunderstood her, the heart she protects.She is my little “matchstick girl”, my daughter, precious and deeply pained by the worlds abuses. You have found her lying in the cold, frozen unable to to tell you that she is not dead. She has not gone to that place where others are laid to rest.Do I label her “ill” and lacking normal attributes that define a majority of us? Or may I in my hope call her my sweet child, lost for the moment until her “spring of season” heals her and grows her to new life, budding, green and viable to her own soul? May I allow you to see the baby she clings to, her hope,that is beating, pulsing heart, life, laughter and love, shooting up from under the frozen impression where she stands her ground, the ground where you have found her, labeled her" Laid to Rest"?Will she display the smile and joy that will speak questions to your soul and ask you to remember her, find her, see her and cherish her poignant gift to you.. her life?