Dancing with Angels

It was in those days just before innocence gives way to the blossoming of womanhood he first came to me, on a hot summer day as I sat beneath the stately weeping willow that held court at the far edge of my grandparents’ lawn. I found my harbor beneath that willow, it’s trunk a sturdy comfort against my back, it’s veil of light green leaves trailing the ground, keeping my dreams safe from the trampling of the world. There the words that wove the secrets of my spirit would dance from my fingers to pen to paper.

It was in the hush of girl changing to woman he came. I sensed him long before I pulled myself from the shelter of the willow to go stand by the weathered wooden fence that separated yard from orchard. Still innocent enough to clearly hear the whisperings of heaven and act upon them without thought. My bare feet felt the strong vibrations of his gallop before my eyes found him. Even in the subtleness of the earth’s movement, my breath caught in innocent knowledge and anticipation of his magnificence. Without questioning why or how, I knew he was coming for me.

His coat whiter than even the most virgin of snow, his mane flowing in harmony with the wind that had caught it as he galloped towards me. Every muscle finely defined a strength I’d never seen nor touched. He came and stopped just on the other side of the fence; lowered his head as if to nod a greeting of hello and then nuzzled my cheek. My fingers ran across his forehead, delighting in its softness. His large brown eyes somehow held all the secrets of my heart, speaking to me in silent accord. In all of his strength the message he whispered was gentleness and truth.

After minutes of quiet greeting, he bowed; beckoning me upon his back. It was in that time when innocence allows us the ability to believe, to know … to believe without rhyme or reason. Climbing upon the back of my great white stallion I wrapped my fingers through his mane, pressed my legs close to his body and together we galloped through the orchard and into my destiny. Time no longer existed; gravity was no more…on the back of my stallion I soared. The wind whispered from heaven as we journeyed, I felt the touch of angels’ wings and I knew the kiss of my Father. The only thing I did not know at the time, nor would the knowledge come to me for many seasons, was the significance of that ride and those to come in the last summer of my purity upon my stallion of white, my stallion … strong and gentle

He would come time and again, always in the same manner of my knowing he was coming, long before my eyes captured him galloping majestically towards me. Always without a rider, always alone. There was the perpetual soft silent greeting before I’d climb upon his back and we’d run through the orchard of my life to come together. I didn’t know the depth of the whisperings I heard, they simply settled within my spirit. Today I see it was not for me to know in those lost days of my youth. I wasn’t even aware the veil was dropping and many years would pass before I would seek the truth of those summer rides free behind the veil.

The veil, the invisible place between flesh and blood and the truth of the spirit. The place before doubts and questions hammer our minds, where fear cannot reside. An infinite miracle of wisdom only a child can accept. I rode free across my Father’s lush fields, scaled glorious mountains rich in vibrant color on the back of my white stallion. I cannot count the times I’d beckon my mount to stop so I might run my fingers across nature’s mysteries. Always in the awe of delight feeling the textures life held, from the rough rocks that hugged a mountain side or the silk of sand as it trickled through my fingertip. Always taking the time to bury my face in the sweetness of wildflowers, inhaling their sweet scent into my soul. Slipping off my mount I’d wade in water a crystal blue, a comforting coolness against my bare feet. From coast to coast we rode. My feet touched the sand of a west coast beach long before I stood on the beach as woman in the dark of night listening to my Father's voice in the gentle waves. "I will bring to the mountains called Rocky," he whispered as we rode over the vast mountains. "The city of music lies in the heart of My country. Remember that." No artist has ever compared to the vibrancy of my Father’s brush. No musician can soothe me with a melody like those my Father’s angels sing.

…While other children played hide and seek…I danced with angels. In those days before the veil would fall and I would blossom into womanhood and feel the drenching of dew…