ARBORIE ARDOUR

            "Abhory leech lips Arborie!" So burned the echo of time in the mind of Arborie Ardour.

            And so, oh my how so, was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for little George.  Without name he had sprouted into the world, till young lady Arborie fell in love at first sight, dubbed him George, plucked him up from greenhouse nursery, adopted him as her own little loblolly sapling, planted him a few feet from backyard fence.  But alas all this was tad more than bit sad; for Arborie had long wanted, planned her first child to be a little George, but perceived herself too ugly to ever kiss a man.  Had not the children of school bullied her, tormented her, crushed her with cruel chant, "Abhory leech lips Arborie?" So all the more was the love of Arborie Ardour beyond passion for her sapling son, little George.

            Where she had planted little George?  Arborie owned half that rocky hill overlooking Valley Lake.  It was a hill whose only level ground was perfect, possessed just enough room for two Tudor style cottages.  The gabled cottage of Arborie Ardour was brick with native sandstone accent, while gabled cottage of neighbor Heath Schrub was native sandstone with brick accent. They had purchased the homes within months of each other.  Now near twenty years later there they were... still there. Why had they stayed?  Over the years both had better job offers, enticing salaries and perks to relocate.  And though they lived next lake, neither fished, neither sailed, neither swam, only loved the view, the view of Valley Lake?

            So did little George grow near that backyard fence, till one huge loblolly limb shaded also Heath's patio, a patio joined by vine arbor gate to garden of favorite and only neighbor.  And as most days, there they sat on floral pads of white wicker bench, enjoying lake breeze of early evening.

            "Arb," Heath paused, gathered glass from wicker table, took iced sweet tea sip, repeated pet name for Arborie, "Arb, you are one beautiful lady."

            Sweet tea sip past Arb lips.  Her long fingers touched slender throat, felt the sweetness flowing down.  She smiled. "Heath, if I didn't know better, I'd say that tea is getting you tingly in all the wrong places." She near giggled, felt tad of tingle too. "But I see old stick figure big lips me in the mirror every morning," she fished with allure for further compliment.

            Genuine reflection rippled the pale face of Heath from receding hairline to brow, past nose to mouth, "When you first moved in next door you were cute, yet a little lean; but over the years I've seen..." Heath stopped, looked away to Valley Lake below, then turned head to face her, "but over the years I've seen that stem figure blossom to match your full flower lips.  I, ah..." Heath's courage fell short, for he'd said only in part, the needs of the heart.

            Arb took nother sip of sweet tea, swallowed, and in shuddering breath uttered, "Yet, in all these years we have sat together on this garden bench, you have not put your arm around me?" She sat tea glass down on wicker table, ran fingers thru his belt loop, pulled herself close.  She lay palm on his chest, moved other round his neck... planted kiss... her first kiss of a man... neath the shade of the once little George.

            Oh what bliss, that long awaited kiss blessed by spring breeze caress. Till one too many puffs turned to huff, shook free dangling loblolly cone, one receding hairline to bean to the bone.

            Heath hadn't thought kissing would be so painful.  He ignored the trickle of wetness down forehead, to nose, then lips, till both tasted it, and together said, "Blood?"

            No time to wipe the blood from her lips, she held Heath's face in both hands, saw pine cone tooth stuck in his receding hairline, instinctively plucked it out. "Oops!" Arb aired err; for she'd burst river dam. The flood of blood was on.  Arb grabbed napkin from table and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.  She stood up to get a better look, reapplied pressure, kidded, "I think you might live.  Not all that falls from the sky is painless." Looking down at her patient, Arb smiled.  She liked taking care of Heath.  She giggled.  She sighed.  For Arb saw her own reflection in Heath's deep blue eyes.

            Looking up into the chocolate almond eyes of Arb, Heath breathed, "Not all that falls from the sky is without purpose.  For who rides his chariot of clouds; walks upon wings of wind; wears garment of light; stretches out starry curtain of night.  Perhaps our Creator sent puff of breath thru his loblolly tree, to make pine cone his messenger be."

            "And what is this message?" Arb asked, Arb smiled, as she tended the wound of his head.

            "To get off this bench, and to get down on one knee." Heath did what he said.  Heath reached in hip pocket, what was in velvet case was - no - locket.

            "Thank you, Jesus," gushed from heart, past the full, oh my how so full, and beautiful rose lips of Arborie Ardour.

            Many kisses... a wedding and one year later...  little Georgette was born...

            Sometimes more is loved than the view... the view of Valley Lake...

                                     Psalms 104:1-5 & 8:1-9

                                     Proverbs 3:11-13

            Sometimes we need a pine cone to the head... to get on the right path to God's blessings...