One day after prayer, many years ago, I thought of the virgin Mother….

I sensed that she turned and looked at me, gestured for me to sit, then looked into my eyes, her oval face, perfect, bronze-like, Arab-like, gazing at me, glowing like the moon; she smiled before she spoke, regular lips widening over normal white teeth, “daughter,” she began, the word eliciting both joy and anxiety in me, for I was not always dutiful nor thoughtful of her in my youthful days or in all my adult decisions yet she never removed that title from me, “I love you,” she whispered, her voice blooming life roses in my ears, “I love you,” she repeated again and again, words veiling her true speech, hiding a conversation she began from her spirit into my spirit, warning me, consoling me, teaching me, adjourning, encouraging me, telling me my goals tonight, tomorrow, next year, next season and I sat and received, stunned, in awe that such a delicate flower was concerned with me, loved me, cared for me, and when she was done and had said all that I could behold, she showed me her wide skirt, long and flowing, the hue of a deepening blue sky, and she bid me to hide behind her skirt, for there she would protect me from the adversary, and I obeyed, intoxicated by the plume of roses crowned on her head and entwined within the fabric of her robe….

Copyright 2020. Michelle St. Claire