The Bath

The Bath

It is a little bit like a rumor, this hidden part of the realm.....

When evening descends and I shed my mundane social wrapping.

When my soul begins to seek an escape,consider the simplicity of slipping away to the bath where bountiful graces await.

I strip off the cotton and gather the silks and away to the bathchamber.





My altar stands ready with the salts,balms,and recipes of oils.

Who's turn is it tonight to entertain the queen of the castle?

I light the candles, flame colored.

I am wrapped in curtains of light interspersed with shadows.

In the candles flickering I lift down the jars and vials beginning the ritual alchemy. Two measures of salt,ten drop of essential oils, and lastly the rare spices.



I run the waters cool to hot. The wavelets lap. What spirits are dancing in the dappled waters? What desires are wickedly hiding from my comprehension?

I listen as the tub fills,whispers upon whispers like the layers upon layers of thoughts. My impressons of things I saw, heard,felt,and tasted.During the harsh light of day thrashing my flesh and scorching my shades craggy rawhide.





But soft the water beckons me. I plunge in. To slide my feet in the world of salt foam.I become a water wraith,step gently here. This inhabitant is shy as she pulls forth her journal slightly musty from misuse, slighty mildewed from inattention.I pick up my pen and tell of my dreams.......



"You invaded my sleep last night engulfing my senses weaving dreams of the poets understanding where worlds meet. You are cancelled from my heart trespassing into my dreams.Gently,like film I drew breath in awe, my desire for you tangible in the mist. He is the unseen temple weaving soul stuff from moonlight. My dream inflamed with the foggy rain creeping softly into my mind.

Here moon with shadows I come in my need to be explained. I the poetress, I ask your pardon, as I am picking up the pieces of my mind. I muse flights of my imperfections that whisked me and my thoughts mistrustful of everything."



The candles burning on my altar, burn low, lower,and lowest still. My bathwater cools and I pause in a waiting velvet night of thoughts. I am sluggish, unwilling to leave my water bath yet compelled to. A pull of the plug and the spells drain away. I snuff out the guttering candles and replace the journal back on my altar with the promise of tomorrow's escape.