Humility

So let's humble ourselves by wearing sackcloth (1 Kings 20:31)

It was Dee that was on my mind as I finally made my way back toward Master's wagons. Trotting, dust and dirt were kicked up behind me, the jangle of bells was an almost insistent hum, and more than one comment had reached my ears about the visual display of a running naked slave. So much sloughs off me, much like the kicked away debris, when there is something on my mind. I heard the remarks, but didn't really, at least not enough to find that they invaded the conundrum consuming my thoughts. I looked up just in time to see a mustard brown kaiila parked in the space between the wagons up ahead. Master's wagons were still a good 100 paces away, so my stride had not slowed very much, and the obstruction would necessitate a skid in sloppy slick grass to avoid a collision.

Pei leaned to the side and looked down at me, growing a half smile right before my eyes.

"Are you still running?" he asked.

"I'm always running, I love to run." I replied with honesty.

"Then how do you expect Fonce to catch you?" was his next inquiry.

I stepped side to side, foot to foot, while brushing back strands of hair that became intimate with my cheeks and forehead, tossing around all manner of answers that came to mind for that question. Everything started to sound empty and without much heart to it, until I finally settled on stating "I am always running -to- Him". Pei laughed lightly, which brought the blush hot on my cheeks. I recalled the first time we met, when I was drawing a map on my skin, and I felt like I might as well be doing the same now.

A slight nod of his head changed the subject, though I felt it would be a source of conversational topic some time again. He told me that he had been tending some matters for Fonce, and all that heat on my cheeks melted together and lit up my eyes, probably much like sparkling sticks at celebrations. I felt like I sprouted wings, delicate gossamer appendages, hardly visible, that lifted my heart in fluttering animation, suspending me in an alert and straighter position. Pei shook his head and chuckled and then continued, letting me know that Red was now in the slave wagon with me; collared, belled and dressed. Food and water were still my duty, and a lovely garment awaited me also. So many things struck me at once I had trouble keeping up with the information, so I latched on to the last I heard. "A garment for me?"

While my mind developed an instant curiosity for all the things playing out behind the scenes, Pei explained that it was a simple shift of sackcloth, meant for use when I served the Free Woman. He winked at me, adding..."you know how delicate their sensibilities can be." We shared a bit of laughter and I thanked him for the message, getting that heated blush all over again when he left me with the reminder that he didn't expect to see me in the sackcloth.

I hardly had time to even look for the garment once I did make it to the wagons of a thousand dreams and images, for it was long past supper time. I knew I was hungry, and I was quite sure Red was as well. A simple stew was quickly set to warm over the banked up coals in the center of the wagons. A project of sorts that I had been working on was calling my name, but even that would have to wait while I repaired a stiff bristled broom for Asria's wagons. That reminded me of the brush I told Red we would try to make, and that reminded me of brushing hair, and making sure Master's wagon was still warm and welcoming for the evening. By the time I had finished the little things that kept cropping up, evening was kissing the ruby red lips of day goodnight and I hurried to the stream to fill up a few botas for Master's evening.

The weather has warmed considerably, but not enough to fully dispel the chill that clings to the air around the stream once the Central Fire has moved on to other worlds. Most often I meet a few slaves by the stream at night; occasionally a few others are gathered here and there, but it has been rare. This evening, voices bled into the song of light breeze as I neared the rushing water, and I gave a quick exchange of smile without expecting any familiarity. Instantly I knew, even though instinct had already bid me to pay attention. In the cool slivers of moonlight that were just touching down, He resembled a statue of great importance. Resilient, stoic, cut from vibrant cloth, reds and dark shadows smudged around Him. The Artisan was there also, wrapped in a cocoon of movement, and I approached Him with that burst of smile just as she left. I could feel it even as I neared, and the hug confirmed the tension that seemed to seep from Him.

He was not pleased, and once more I have stumbled into a place where His emotions are awash and alive within Him. If it is Him that I seek to learn, I seem to manage it best so far by barging head first into Him. His directions were clear - I was not to be out after dark. I agreed readily, without hesitation, for I trusted His wishes. I felt much as I returned to the wagon, without the fresh cool of water. I felt security and protection, but a fantasy played out in my mind as well. A hazy vision of comfort that He might find in times such as these, and not a further worry.

“… You changed my mourning into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and turned it into joy…” (Psalm 30)