Meanwhile back at the ranch, Kelby Tahl slapped warm water on whiskers and lathered up. As he opened medicine cabinet, his reflection slid to and off mirror edge. He retrieved the safety razor within, closed the mirror, began morning ritual. Third stroke in stopped short; razor in hand lowered. "Well, how bout that," Kelby sputtered thru foam on lips, spattered lather on mirror. He turned head a tad, wrought a too wide open right eye right up to mirror; pondered, "Just when 'did' that crow step foot in my corner of eye land?" Kelby smiled, the crow's-foot grew deeper. "Such is wisdom, paid for in the currency of youth." His eyes relaxed, yet smiled the wider.
Brooke and Kelby had dated for a while, well longer than a while, more than a few years while. But one of the things they had never done together was a picnic, and Kelby never before had shared a certain hiding place on his hill country ranch. So this special morning was separate spent, a cookin' country picnic fare, signature entrees to later share. Secret entrees for neither told other what they did prepare, so kept surprise up in the air.
A few hours later Brooke made the seventeen mile trip thru winding hills and lowland dales, till pulling up near ranch house front door step, where Kelby was a loading up his utility vehicle name of A-Lamb-A-Tote, as proclaimed on rear tail gate.
"Never have I ever seen a man's four wheel drive toy covered in such an idyllic scene." Brooke drew breath, added, "Those deer by the stream under the cypress look like I could pet them." She asked, "Who painted it for you?"
"Well," Kelby blushed just a little, confessed, "one day my left hand kind a asked right hand what's up?"
"What kind of man are you, Kelby Tahl?" Brooke gave him a peck on cheek.
His blush grew deeper, and he kept in his heart the thought, "Wait till she sees what's on the driver's side..."
And so it was that no sooner than gear and an old guitar were stowed aboard the ol' A-Lamb-A-Tote, the trip to promised picnic land began. And so be it along the way, a pungent odor, escaping one particular picnic basket bay, tingled olfactory nerve stimulation, induced drooling mechanism, of one Brooke Nineve. "I have never smelled anything quite like the 'whatever' you have cooked up in that basket." She hugged Kelby's arm tight. "Maybe we could sample just a bite along the way?"
Kelby smiled, "Am I the most blessed old cowhand in Texas or what? Got my pretty gal on my arm, and riding thru God's country to picnic heaven."
"Kelby Tahl," Brooke cut loose a healthy, "Hymph," nipped his arm with pearly teeth, and with accusing eye rendered protest, "I have not forgotten your lips are a master of the old deflected by the reflected game." She squirmed a bit in seat, but did not let go his arm, did a little reflecting of her own. "But I did like that you said I'm pretty... and your gal." Her smile grew, but as it did the mirror of earlier morning gave the corner of her left eye a crow's-foot pinch, deflated that smile to near sniffle. "It was sweet of you to say, but the mirror tells me otherwise."
The eyes of Kelby just smiled. He kept on a drivin', breathed, "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? You, dearest Brooke, who scents the breeze of my dreams with the flower of strawberry blonde hair, with freckles of marigold on nose that match the ones on the nape of your sweet neck, and those pink rose lips... But even if you had not these any at all, you'd still be beautiful to me."
Brooke hugged his arm all the snugger, "And just why is that, Mr. Kelby? Tell me more." So returned pink rose smile.
"Because the mirror of the face is temporary; but the mirror of the soul is forever. Because in due time the dew is as the dew of herbs, that wakes the dust... Whether old or whether dead in the dust, the dew from heaven wakes all to eternity, both the just and the unjust, to blessed place or to accursed other. Because at the crossroad of every life stands the cross. Because the cross is the crossroad of life. And you, little Brooke, have babbled many a dew time... the living water of Jesus."
"Wow, ask a guy a question! You got all kinds a cowboy of the cosmos there for a minute." Brooke giggled, but confessed, "But I do love Jesus." She smiled.
"Well, speaking of brooks, we are here and I'm about as hungry as you are." Kelby brought A-Lamb-A-Tote to a halt atop the rock over looking the brook. He fished, "Feel like getting your toes wet?"
"You are such a kidder." Brooke giggled like a tickled little girl.
"Well, there comes a time," Kelby put on his best sage, gray templed, cosmic look, repeated, "comes a time when all must pass over to the other side of the river, or brook as it be." He tried to stall the smile tugging at corner of lips.
"So we really are crossing the water?" Brooke sighed, yet with hazel eyes of trust looked up into sage face.
Boots off, jeans rolled up, guitar strapped to back, baskets dangling from left arm and hand, and Brooke hanging on to right arm, Kelby took first step into cool water. Brooke stepped in, giggled, "It tickles, feels so good after wearing those hot old boots." The clear ankle deep water rushed over smooth stone, and in between, "School girl toes!" She squeaked.
"School girl toes?" Kelby smiled. He loved to hear Brooke's little squeak.
"Yeah, in Austin after grade school during the summer, me and my best friend Bernie used to wade in the stream behind our house, let the minnows and baby bass nibble our toes. Ohh, what is that?" She squeaked again.
"That little fellow inspecting your toes is your native rainbow trout. He is as colorful as he is right on cue, isn't he? One of God's little planned coincidences, no doubt. Thank you Lord above." And Kelby knew this to be a day of sweet reckoning.
"Sunrise blue and pink with speckles, beautiful." Brooke admired the little swimmer.
"Just don't get too distracted," Kelby gently warned. "The arch we are on top of is only about seven feet wide."
"Arch?" Brooke puzzled.
"Yep, we are crossing right in the middle of a limestone arch. Ankle deep here, but on both sides six feet deep. The water passes over and under it. So do not slip." The seriousness of his face betrayed the gentleness of his voice.
If I go, we both go, Kelby Tahl." Brooke held tight to right arm.
"Just a few more steps to the shade of that cypress." Kelby stood in water edge, made sure Brooke's first step on stream bank secure, then stepped up himself.
Shortly the blanket was spread, the baskets and guitar laid out. two in love sat down, and the hunger astirred Brooke reached for Kelby's basket, reeking mystery aroma. His and hers hands met on basket handle.
"Uh-aah, you open your basket first," Kelby teased.
"No way," Brooke crinkled up freckles of nose and forehead. "That smell has been driving me crazy. I am so hungry, I almost gnawed off your arm on the way up here." She pulled basket to her and wrapped arms round it.
"Give it up." Kelby tugged basket and the attached Brooke to him, planted full kiss on pink lips.
Brooke's grasp loosened. Kelby gently picked up basket, sat it out of her reach. He gathered Brooke to his side, under arm. Her lips blushed, longed for more..." Open your basket first," He coaxed.
Brooke fluttered lashes, narrowed hazel eyes, and through askew blushed lips muttered, "Deflected by the reflected 'again'! Kelby Tahl, you are a bad, bad almost ex-boyfriend." She tried sneak attack around his waist to snag that basket handle. Kelby scooted it just out of reach, to which Brooke registered a Richter Scale seismic, "Hymmmph!"
"Your basket first," Like a flea in the fur, Kelby pestered away.
"One of these days, Mr. Tahl." She scooted away, folded arms for a sec, then reached out and retrieved her picnic basket, sat it between them, fumed, "Since it means more to you than me, here." With the palm of her hand she tried to hide the smile cracking faux pas miffed mug. Her giggle revealed...
"I love your natural born sweet marigold nature." Kelby kissed her temple, nuzzled nose in strawberry blonde hair.
"Sweet distraction... again." Brooke leaned a tad closer.
Kelby opened basket lid, "Let's see, fruit, nut and veggie salad," he took breath, "tossed in sweet raspberry vinaigrette, creamed peas, and your famous sour cream mashed tatters. Girl friend, done good!" Kelby bumped shoulder into hers.
"Open your cotton pickin' basket!" Brooke fumed, like heat escaping lava.
"Eh, what basket would that be?" Kelby treaded on volcanic ground.
"The stinking picnic basket right behind you, stinky man." Brooke pouted.
Kelby knew just how far to stretch Brooke's tolerance, before she stretched his neck, sat her basket away, replaced it with his.
For a few seconds Brooke refused to budge folded arms, but her freckled nose began to twitch with waft of thick aroma. "Ohhh," she opened basket, opened tin foil, "buttermilk biscuits? Yummy, but that's not what I smell." She popped open foil covering ceramic dish, the smell rose up, tickled her nose, forced her to dive forefinger into, "Gravy?" She tasted, she grabbed a biscuit and dipped, she bit and she ate. She dipped biscuit again. "It's got a reddish tint?" She took nother scrumptious bite.
"Red-eye gravy, an old southern recipe," Kelby volunteered.
"Red-eye gravy, oh my," Brooke dipped biscuit, chewed anew. "Rich, smoky, salty and meaty delicious, but what kind of meat?" With mouth full, twixt chewing, she asked.
"Critters," Kelby smiled.
Red-eye gravy stop sign halted munching. "What kind of critters?" Brooke's munching cautiously resumed.
"Well ya just sort a start with some wild boar smoked ham, fry it up in pan, take it out and add left over thick coffee to the drippins' and scrappins', and whisk in butter and bouillion cube." Kelby divulged recipe.
"So the meat is ham?" Brooke took nother bite.
"Naw, I ate that for breakfast, while I fried up the rabbit and squirrel."
"So I am eating rodents," Brooke did not stop eating.
"And duck and others of avian persuasion," Kelby nodded matter of factly.
"Other persuasion?" Brooke was too food enraptured to care.
"Yep, it's all fried, then thrown into the red-eye gravy, and the longer it simmers the tenderer it gets," Kelby basked in his culinary skills, then realized, "Hey, are you going to eat it all?"
"It's," Brooke hugged basket to her, dipped second biscuit into red-eye gravy, "it's your own fault." She took healthy bite, with mouth full mumbled, "Starve a girl half to death in the middle of nowhere, trick her at every turn, like there is really rabbit and squirrel in this gravy; then ya stuff her with the gravy, make life interesting, and..." She dipped biscuit, brought it almost to her lips, but then redirected it dripping gravy to Kelby's mouth, "And you share your recipe of life with me." Love and tasty red-eye gravy had soothed away the crow's-feet from her blue-green eyes.
And they supped... And Kelby burped, "Not bad manners, just good gravy." He laughed.
"Yeah, like that joke never gets old." Brooke poked elbow in his ribs, let out a little burpette of her own, giggled.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Kelby looked down into sweet blue-green eyes.
"Fraid so," Brooke reached back, retrieved old guitar, plunked it down in her lap, strummed a bit til in tune with the dancing water of the brook, then in the voice of an angel began to sing:
Drink of living water
Fresh from the Lord above
Blessed by the breath of the Dove
And filled with Jesus love
Drink of living water
Panteth like the deer
For streamlets cool and clear
The dancing waters hear
Brooke slowed the guitar pickin', let its song drift along with the water of the brook. And so did the deer appear, by the water so very near. And Brooke remembered the painting of the deer by the water, under the cypress decorating the passenger side of ol' A-Lamb-A-Tote. So her gaze ambled there to the other side of the stream, where upon the rock she now saw the other side of four wheel drive. The painting was the same except by the stream, under the cypress, on a picnic blanket sat a young woman playing a guitar in harmony with the living water of the brook. And beside her... kneeling on one knee was a man... And Brooke began to cry...
And the crow's-foot in the corner of Kelby's eye land grew deep... as he relaxed, yet smiled the wider... on bended knee...
The deer by the brook: Psalm 42:1-2 KJ
The dust of passage echos message... beware or rejoice... the dew is coming...
The dew of herbs: Deuteronomy 32:2-4 KJ
The dew of herbs and the dust: Genesis 2:7 KJ and "Isaiah 26:19 KJ" (All of Isaiah chapter 26)
The just and unjust: Please read Matthew 5:45 and understand because God loves all, he sent the light and the rain from heaven, Jesus; and gives opportunity to accept his son Jesus as savior. So must we also love all and share Jesus.
The Rock and His water: Deuteronomy 32:4 KJ; Numbers 20:8 KJ with 1st Corinthians 10:4 KJ and John 4:13-14 KJ
The deer by the brook: Psalm 42:1-2 KJ
Brooke Nineve... the brook and the lady of the lake
Marigold... flower of herb named in honor of Mary Mother of Jesus
Kelby Tahl... the place by the fountain spring and the dew
Sage... a medicinal herb mint... food flavoring... sound wisdom
Red-eye gravy: southern recipe embracing the gift of life...
Jesus... Son of God... our savior... the dew and the rain from heaven... the living water
Ezekiel 34:26 KJ... His season; Numbers 20:8 KJ... His water
John 3:16 KJ For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, '+that whosoever believeth in him+' should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Blessed place... or accursed other... eternity...
