Sunflowers, daisies, and lupine dappled in bloom and color of glade. Yellows, white, and columned magenta-violet hues flowered in the sun.
Each step, they rose climbing nearer to life and source of bloom; sun’s burn in the high and thinning air.
Granite peaks surrounded in crown place sacred in their hearts; visitation and return of pilgrimage as others to Cathedrals and where it is they find and encounter God.
Such was the crown and cathedral of earth, blossoms as stained glass—brought to life in light—coloring frame of the mountainside.
Trip was more challenging than last, more than any made before, and still she climbed higher on, to where placid mirrored sky.
Spirit called, and so she went; not asking why, but knowing.
Such is the wisdom of magic and mystery, what one understands but cannot explain.
In her fullness, in her near, she felt the extra life; spirit and life beyond herself, she and all around in bloom in prepare for fruited seed.
On weathered sign, she read a name.
“Williams.”
Maybe that could be a name.
The “s” made it different, more personal, unique—like holy place that held the name. Could it be the same for soul, new life brought into world?
She spoke it aloud, its sound and smooth and roll from lips. Sound and feeling made her smile, gifted sign in high and near to sun in cathedral of granite peaks.
Wind stirred and the stained glass meadow danced, spirited in light.
Serenity in the splendor rooted in her soul, all of her in peace.
They remained for a time in the holy place, and when sun began it’s fall toward rim-lighting of the crown, they began in their return from height; stride of the fall different than climb, different strain to knee and where in leg it felt, controlling the descent.
On the path, in rest and mirth, they gifted kisses in light and broken shadow of the pines. There was always a magic—wonder of love—in the find of lips, gentle of tongue; hidden and stolen kisses in the vast and open wild.