Hymn

Small and young, hiding beneath the branches of the willow tree.  Wistful leaves sheltering, holding my fear at bay.  Branches that showed me what surrender looked like.  That was you.

Sought out by wolves, scented out.  I have felt their fur on my bare legs.  Predators always nearby but somehow always just brushing past. That was you.

Blood, the most reliable witness, telling the stories I could not.  I searched for wounds and found honey where I was certain blood would be.  Scars, upon inspection, revealed to be delicate fingerprints left on my softest parts.  That was you.
 
Dark and dank, the cave.  Weapons in my hands, men down.  Softness grazed my ear, whispers called me to a home I did not yet know.  Metal rang out, a bell, as both dagger and sword dropped to the ground.  That was you.

Blood drops on sand, an endless field of poppies, flowers of the dead, my dead.  They stood behind me, soldiers of the past who fought so hard to bring me here.  They waved as I looked ahead and we sang a song of mourning for their sacrifices together.  Honor bound, the blood ink of those generations tattooed on my insides, I stepped humbly and gratefully where they could not.  That was you.

Bluest of skies, matching an ocean limitless before me.  Grounded on a cliff made only by water and time.  Grace upon me, in me, for me, of me.  More infinite than all I could see.  That was you.

The glittery sky, sun flashing through glass, one moment frozen but only so it could be framed, I was whole, never broken.  That was you.

Those moments, rare, justesse holding my hand.  Justness is as close as we can get.  The murmured song of a sigh at the center of it all. That was you.

Called down to the basement with the shadows that cannot be named.  Every fear, every horror woven into a tapestry that hangs in the darkness, protected from light so it will never fade.  Waiting in silence for my other senses to take over so I could find my way upstairs.  And they did.  That was you.

An ancient and intricate pattern to make the finest lace, a pattern I have no reason to know.  I did not know I was making a veil until it was finished.  I became a seamstress while I was not looking.  That was you.

Forged to endure, sharp and brilliant, these blades in my life.  Every sword I have wielded, and it has been many, cut through more with its reflection than its edge.  That was you.

Offerings to the forest, a cross I no longer needed to bear, a skin I no longer needed to wear and a sword I  no longer needed to wield.  The hush of reverence, a sweet fingertip to my lips to bless giving up without knowing what you will get.  That was you.

I did not know.  I never knew.

Beneath the river, under the stones polished by waters that never stop, under that not knowing, that was you.