~~*~~

I close my eyes, and tilt my face to the

warmth –  For a moment, I could be basking

on a white shore with the Lady’s naiads

behind me, singing their soul-healing hymns.

A breeze tousles my hair and my heart drifts

to another place, where always the air

is that perfect blend of heat and cool, and

the water always refreshes.  At

the back of my mind, I hear the song, a

lilting melody in a gentle voice,

telling me my task is done, to rest now.

Nothing fairer, nothing purer than this,

clean-washed souls sparkling in aureate sun.

The whisper is in my ear -- Think of Home.

I smell honeysuckle and gardenia

and new washed linen, fragrances to soothe

and anoint wearied traveler before

she begins the next leg of her journey. 

The chorus faint behind me weaves tales of

valour or of love, of faith immortal

and bonds wrought true.  The sea crashes softly,

muted by tranquility alone.  It

is Her design, Her glory, this haven

for the troubled.  No one forgets the green

lands; souls remember if not minds.  Something

stirs and presses the memory.  It is

a credit to Her success, that even

in mortal Realms, they may still think of Home.

All is well here, without the toil of

mundane existence or the trifles of

care.  No threats to disrupt, no danger to

break Naduralin’s ever serene clime.

The limbs I stretch feel no tension, no pain,

but relax, limber.  My skin has been bathed

in rose water, soft as kitten’s down, and

smelling of wildflowers.  Hair brushed to

feathery cascade fans out under me,

gold as rays beyond on rolling water.

Perfection, peace, fellowship, faithfulness –

these are the Lady’s triumphs and joys.  A

cold blast startles, wakes me from reverie,

and wistfully, again I think of Home.

~~*~~