Stories of the Priestess

This is the story of a Priestess that awoke one day in the desert in the arms of her beloved. The glow of morning nudged her consciousness, but she turned her face to the pillow, clamped her eyes shut, and hit the etheric snooze. The sun, sliding on her daily path, ignored the snooze request and peeked over the mountain, her warm breath kissing the back of the Priestess’ neck. Unable to resist or escape the warmth and light, the Priestes and her beloved arose for the day.
This is the story of a Priestess that awoke one day in the arms of her beloved in the cool wetness of the Northwest rainforest. The morning sun stayed veiled behind the clouds, light remaining dim. But the birds and the trees and herbs and the flowers started singing at the first moment of light. The Priestess turned her head toward the chest of her beloved, burying her face and trying to drift back to the darkness of sleep, but the tendrils of light pushing at the veils and the chorus of plants called loudly. Unable to resist or escape the soft morning glow and the green robed choir, the Priestess arose for the day and made coffee for her beloved.
This is the story of a Priestess that awoke one day in a lush and deserted land, long ago and out of time. The morning sun filtered through the slats of her hut, and she turned to bury her head in her straw pallet, pulling a tattered blanket around her shoulders. Warm breath and a distinctive smell broke the spell, and she peered through the slit of one eye. A squared pupil stared back. A sigh arose from her lips, and she smiled at the sweet white goat. Unable to resist or escape the pleading stare, the Priestess arose for the day and began her chores.
These are my stories, the present, the past, the beyond.