Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Creek House in the Vosges Mts.
Ana seems well on this new day, though the dread of her diagnosis is a heavy weight on her and all of us who love her.
Mater Doe named Ana in spoken prayers, so those who came to worship at the secular church in the woods shared in the prayers and they know of the fears and assume we nurture hopes. Neighbors with courage enough to visit the sick stop by the Creek Cottage to see her smiling and welcoming as always, though the scurry to serve tea to guests is handled by me just now. Harvest season is a busy time anyway, so a continuous line of visitors at our door is both a blessing and a curse. She always chooses to call visitors blessings and welcomes them.
The water flask for flowers on the table is stuffed with stems. Everyone who comes by brings a handful of fresh flowers crowded together with the lavender stems I so foolishly delivered to the surgery when they needed violet leaves. But I have to say, the lavender has lasted through the healing of her wound and the fragrance hasn’t faded.
She laughs when we are alone, “Laz, it looks as though every blossom on the creek path has been picked clean just to fill my vase.”
“Yes, the goats and the geese are surely missing these late summer blossoms.”
More thoughtfully she answers, “I don’t think people always care that critters appreciate beauty too so they just go snatching up every daisy they see, just to make me a bouquet.”
“Do you really think the critters see what is beautiful?”
“Of course, they do. If you lift your eyes from the beauty of the sun setting behind the hills on any evening and gaze at the horses in the pasture, every eye is on the extravagant display of sky colors, even though they are only beasts.”
“Horses know things.”
“I noticed a sheep once, gazing at a rainbow.”
“I don’t think God gave beauty to people alone. I think all of life becomes enwrapped in it. People claim it as ours alone, since claiming things is what humankind do best.”
There is another knock at the door and more neighbors come with more fistfuls of flowers.
I refill the boiling pot on the hearth which still has the dregs of chamomile flowers and mint leaves to make our tea.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 