Soul Watering

It is the most delicious kind of morning, so lovely it hurts - the kind it would feel rotten to sit inside on. It isn’t just the sort of day that feels like a nice spring, but the sort that blossoms with a brighter, more sacred beauty - that warms with the allurement of a secret magical world. It beckons me - vibrant, succulent, ripe as a peach. I want to suck the juice out of it, to squeeze it dry in my fists, to wrap it tightly in my arms until it bursts. But how? I sift through a symphony of emotions and come up empty for a word to describe the ache that is in my soul. My desires betray me. I could lay in the tender grass. I could swing between the lacy trees. I could splish and splash through a babbling creek. But I know that no amount of time spent outside on this day will cure me from the pain of this perfection that I long to experience with more than just my five senses. There is a sixth sense as well - one of spirit and soul, quiet as a whisper, hungry as a horse - that longs to be satisfied. I can barely stand to witness this day, knowing it has been fading to dusk since its dawn - fleeting as a song. Heaven has kissed the earth on the cheek, and is departing as quickly as it touched down. I want to bottle it - to call it mine - to keep it forever in the hiding place of my heart. But this is not what I really want. I am longing, yearning, with a fervent heart for eternity. Just as a taste of sweet, soft ice cream leaves the mouth watering for more, this sweet, soft taste of Heaven this morning is what I’ll call: soul watering.