“Mom! I’m gonna shower now!” I holler, standing at the base of the stairs. I’m way too lazy to walk up to her door. That’s way too much effort, especially when I’m  just going to go back down.

“Alright. Remember, only a half hour-we’re in a water shortage,” she says in response. I roll my eyes-short showers are so not my thing. “And set a timer!” she finishes.

Exasperated, I sigh and grumble to myself. “Got it Mom!” I say loudly so she can hear me.

When I step into the shower, everything changes. I ascend above time, space, life. It’s indescribable, truly. I am transported somewhere no one else knows exists, where no mundane limitations subsist. The curtain draws shut, hot water pounds heavily down the flesh on my back. I embrace it wholeheartedly and melt from being, no longer subject to the rules of the natural world. I close my eyes and run my hands through my water veiled hair, streaming down my back as if it too is water. I begin to look about in wonder as my eyes are met with deep forest, green grass, thick shrubbery. Slender creatures slink out of hiding in pale forms, beautiful shining little beings of pure light and joy. I smile and reach forward, pulling myself from the tree which has held captive my spirit all this time. The gnarled old grey-brown trunk only holds me every century between these hallowed festivals.  I test my small, delicate feet on the downy earth and find myself light and free, strong and able as the sapling I once was. My hips twist easily in time with the rhythm of Nature’s breath, I swirl with the wind. My companions grasp my spritely hands and lead me in laughter-we dance as one. Our voices lift in praise. “The earth, the sky, the greens, the streams-we are one,” the quiet melody begins. Our voices grow stronger, “Let us carry the way of our Mother, live in her life. That she grant us mercy and peace, love and passion, acceptance for our shortcomings.” We pipe the incantation somberly at first, in the purest tones, crescendo to jubilance. We are spirits, essences, wisdom-we are the trees, the life of the forest. The name for our celebration, our elation, escapes the lips in a sigh-Pomona. I know not what it means, for I am youthful. I am merely a few hundred years in age. This festival holds so much more for me than a name, than a history-it is freedom, as much to myself as my fellows who also cherish its encompassing warmth. 

We need not the brew which flows headily near the stream, yet gladly do we drink of it. Merriness warms through my toes-or the equivalent as I am but a breath of the wind which scatters about. When we laugh, the forest shakes with joy. When we cry, the earth is torn through with sobs. Today we sing-pure tones of exultation that float towards the heavens-and dance, our feet light upon the earth in easy, gentle kisses. I focus my youthful gaze upon the graceful forms of the elders who, in their wooden bars, are gnarled and misshapen, whose souls yet gleam brighter and stronger than any sapling. Tender, pale skin ripples softly over lean muscle, defining the gentle curves of their delicate forms. Brilliant green orbs shine under heavy brown lashes, silky flaxen hair swishes lithe over exquisite hips, accentuating narrow waists strong enough to bear the winds of time with immeasurable patience. In awe I watch, still young and eager-far too curious for our kind. The elders soothe and sway harmoniously with Nature, connecting with her majestic grace in such a way that makes even my practiced delicate dance appear clumsy, awkward. I ache to be like them, to speak like them, to sing like them, to breathe like them! Through every coil of being, rising and falling in perfect rhythm. I close my eyes with a serene smile as the festival draws to a close.

When I open them again I no longer bear the grace and beauty which was mine in those short days known as Pomona. Rather, I am again an ungainly human creature with leaden toes and trapped lungs which do not intone happiness. I sing sorrowfully, the timer screeches behind the curtain-half an hour is up. Withdrawn, I depress the shower knob and the water stops. I step out and bind myself again to the mundane.