Sunday, November 07, 2004
the child, twelve
Eager as a young boy, the Master her Beloved led the way to the path up the mountain, the Child giggling and giddy as she followed him. Up, up they climbed, amidst the myrrh and the pomegranates, the cinnamon and spikenard. How green...! How lush...!
The Master tucked Starr gently under his arm, against his side, the easier to watch her face and enjoy her reactions. For it was hard to tell which was greater - her joy in the rich verdant beauty all about her, or his joy in getting to share in hers.
Except... She turned her face up towards his. 'I don't understand,' said she.
'Tell me what you do not understand.'
'This mountain. I was here with Mathilda not very long ago. And there was hardly anything growing. Now, the mountain is overflowing with richness. How did that happen?'
Together they stopped walking as she gazed upwards into his face and he smiled fondly on hers. 'I am come,' he said simply.
She blinked. 'You mean - because you are here, the mountain blooms?'
'I am the Gardener, and this is my garden,' said he.
'But... I don't understand. These plants revived, because you are here?' A hush fell over her, as she realized that was indeed so. 'Who...' she whispered in awe. 'Who are you?'
For answer, he said, 'Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.'
A breeze stirred about Starr's hair, caressing the locks of her head, as gently the wind picked up, coming out of both north and south at once. The trees and bushes about them tossed and gamboled, spilling forth their fragrances, filling the air nearly to the point of intoxication.
And then the winds subsided. The Master stood in the midst, calm and serene, gazing down on Starr.
Amazement shone from her features. 'How did you do that?'
Merriment sparkled from his eyes. 'Yes,' said he, 'What manner of man is this, that even the wind obeys him?'
'Oh!' said she. 'I've heard that somewhere before.'
'Indeed you have,' he agreed.
'If only I could remember...' And she sighed.
'In its own proper time, you will remember much. But come.' And on they walked, under a canopy of trees, breathtaking in splendor.
Soon the Master led his Starr to a mossy place where he bid her sit and rest while he gathered flowers to weave into a garland for her hair. The breeze was soft now, the sunlight dappling the ground about her into intricate, ever-changing patterns as she rested and waited.
The crunch of a footstep on the path. Starr turned up her eyes to see.
To see a face of anger bearing down on her. The enemy's daughter.
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