1 Corinthians 13: 1-2
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing. (NIV)

The girl passed from one town to another, never tarrying long. Strangers sometimes invited her to stay with welcoming smiles that never reached their eyes. But she was ageless and wise to this trick. Always she wandered on, on her weary, timeless feet.

Sun and snow, shadow and leaf, all the colors not meant for her weighed heavy.

One night she found herself in a garden abandoned and overgrown. She looked around at explosions of honeysuckle and briars bent under the weight of many heavy roses. She listened to the mournful songs of cicada and nightingale. This was not a place for the masses and their brittle joys. She thought to rest and pretend she was home for a while.

In the heart of the garden a great rowan stood with its branches imploring the heavens and its roots guarding the earth. The girl felt she knew this tree, and curled herself against its trunk. Feeling safe for a rare moment her strange eyes drifted closed.

When she opened them again she was no longer alone.

There was a darkling boy in the clearing, sitting by a tiny fire, mesmerized by its flames.

Curiosity got the better of her ire and she asked, "Who are you, to break my solitude and disturb my rest?"

And the boy started, so lost in his reverie he hadn't noticed her there. "I'm sorry." he said. "I thought I was alone in this place." and made ready to go.

His midnight eyes locked with her gray and she spoke again, "No bide a while. I would know why you stare so, into that fire."

He gestured to the flames "I stare at my source." he said. "I am made up of all they lay to waste. I am what remains of the burned bridge and the broken heart." He turned back to the flickering light, and she thought he would say no more but she was wrong. His next words wrapped her in a familiar whisper. "You won't want to know me" he said, "No one ever does, but since you have asked, my name is Ash.

A shock of recognition streaked through her, calling words to her lips. "Then we are well met, Ash. I am made up of all the bits they don't know they've discarded their disappointments and broken dreams. My name is Dust.

Each stared at the other, seeing the face of an angel. For the first time they knew the beauty hidden in their wretchedness and solitude. With no further hesitation they ran into each others arms, and knew love.

Together they clung there, lost in each other beneath the indifferent stars. It could not last and they both knew it. Tendrils of light caressed the face of night announcing the coming dawn. She clutched at him tighter unwilling to let go.

He whispered in her ear, "We'll be together again when the rains come. But for now the world is broken and knows us not." Slowly, as though it were as painful as it truly was he plucked her arms from around him and pulled away. He pressed a fingertip to her lips to silence her protests. Staring deep into her he asked, "Do you understand?"

After a long breathless pause she nodded in agony. She stole a kiss and they parted.

Years like centuries they have wandered always in opposing directions. Each wondering if the other was no more than a pleasant dream.

Ash unto Ash.
Dust unto Dust.

Till the day came that they looked up at their shared sky, and saw thunderheads gathering in the horizon. A promise of the world's bitter fear being washed away.

Dust cried her colorless tears and felt them echoed in distant black. She turned and began to retrace her steps on lighter feet.

Ash unto Dust.
Dust unto Ash.

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