Friday, August 27, 2010

Rinse

i was always so tired then, as swollen belly usually dictates, and i'd lean my head against the cool, smooth tile, letting the hot, hot water do its job. i could have stayed in there for hours; one showerhead pouring love on my lower back, the other rinsing my hair, long and tangled down to my waist, a new wide rivulet running down my side and thigh. he feared i stayed in there too long, not because i wasted so much water, but for the temperature rising (he'd read all the books, too), my skin bleating red protest.

i miss that shower. miss especially the stone bench and the luxury of several faucetheads, and most of all the little window that let so much light in but none out. it was summer, so it would rain often, and i remember feeling the magic of being showered on but watching rain splatter the earth. it was sumptuous, like grace or the believing in unicorns.

there is grace in this space, not ours, yet home-the chance to rinse off at all, or a wriggling little babe at my feet, splashing reverent, soapy bubbles, or one of those 30 minute drown-the-world sessions while he takes over out there.  there is no window to see the rain, no strategically placed jets of water, but there is still wonder in the washing.

2 comments:

suzannah {so much shouting, so much laughter} said...

oh my gosh, that shower sounds amazing. i don't dream much of big, fancy houses, but a shower like that? look out!

so lovely talking with you today:)

Graceful said...

Your writing is beautiful, Misty. Thank you.