Touchtable

It is in the early part of the mornings I savor that place between awake and asleep. Drowsed smiles linger on my lips for as long as I can wring an ihn out of it. It is the part of the day when my surroundings affect me more significantly than others. That is the time I feel most feminine, most affectionate, most ... everything including sensual. Breathing in the crispness of the morning air, feeling the caress of the first real stirrings of a breeze only to have the touch of the central fire warm my skin brings one of those long indulgent sighs. In the reflection of the stream, I took a moment for self assessment. At first I barely recognized the image I saw there.

Not quite the porcelain doll that I came here as. I'd taken on a honey coated glaze like a California girl from the warm days of the summer all the way down to the sun bleached platinum of my blonde hair. The shock white streak was no longer as noticeable though it had taken on a silvery hue.

I knew women once that would pay fortunes to have the chisel that came naturally here from the hard work and day to day living. No way was the kalmak raven first made for me going to fit now, not even if I added a strip all the way from swell to swell although I still ran my fingers over it now and then with a reverence for all that it could have brought out within me. My hands had what my grandmother called character. They spoke of knowing the feel of the world around me, the nails no longer the delicate smooth cresents but a slight taloned curve. Useful, purposeful. It wasn't a childlike waif that returned my gaze from the surface of the stream but a beautiful, self assured woman, one that was relishing the life she led, one that still had a lifetime ahead of her. All in all, what I saw wasn't so bad. At least I don't think it was.

I had begun to create structured routines that provided a frame for me. It was perhaps the one good thing I could remember of my father, the strict adherance to organization. It was where I functioned best, having parameters that were clear cut, unchangeable ... a solid foundation. Now where the lines in the sand were unclear, the habits helped stabilize. It gave me a feeling of being able to stretch out, unfurl, grow. Those parameters may be as wide as the plains but knowing that they were there was comfortable.

Early mornings were my time. I usually spend the time out among the herds gathering dung or fetching water away from everyone else. Not thinking, not creating a vortex of jumbled concepts, just waking, just savoring the sights of the bosk, the grass and watching the sky for sign of what the rest of day held. Sometimes opportunity would offer a chance for blackwine at the fires with those closest to me. I think I savor those times most. The bantering would often set the tone of the day, the laughter and the smiles or pondering some philosophy of the stars and the bosk that would continue on to the next task at hand what ever it may be.

This time when I touched the surface of the water, the ripples it created no longer distorted the image I could see.