Reflections of Mercy: Psalm 23

"Surely Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."  (Ps. 23)

Goodness and Mercy are literal things, like sunshine falling unexpectedly across the living room floor.  Like the brush of a kiss on a sleeping face.  Like silk wrapped around a sorrowing wound.  Goodness and Mercy, waters from God, rush in us, through us, around us.  Gathering droplets, Mercyfalls down like rain. It covers the morning earth, and we step onto the grass, leaving barefooted prints.  Fears, regrets and sorrows of sins grown old, wash from our skin. Their voices blend into a harmony, calling, softly, then loudly, like rolling foam beneath the falls, laughing, joyfully speaking, "Yes, my Dear, the water's clear and it's clean; take a plunge, and when you step away, let its Beauty flow from your soul."

The Lady rose - a young maiden regaled in gowns that now lay aside upon the bank of  dense laurel.  She stood in silence.  Her head bare and hair unfurled, with dark, bright eyes she looked deeply into an azure sky. Translucent silk falling, cascading around her shoulders, down to her knees, swayed softly against the water's surface.  She stepped further, carefully into the fresh natural pool, until her waist grew dim.  The pale gown rippled gently, swirling downward with the tension of a sequenced bodice, jewels glittering in the morning light.  She stirred slightly and then dipped beneath the dark water's surface; upon her rising, the water broke apart, rushing-baptizing, and returning into the emerald calm.  She stood calmly, watching once more.  Turning a hidden face toward the earthen jar upon the bank, she waded back, and kneeling, she lifted and dipped it into the pool, raised it over her head and let fall the spring-tide stream upon her lightly clothed skin. Silence enshrouded her bathing ritual and hung upon the morning air like honeysuckle.  She preferred the stillness of early morning, the mists rising from the hidden pools of the forest.  The seclusion of the hemlocks and the wildness of delicate blossoms and tender ferns drew her there repeatedly.