Life is a series of events. There is nothing else — except, that is, for love.
In the life of a child the whole world of who they are waits to be born. And such was occurring as a sunrise in the play of feelings and dreams in the being of Naomi. Only a child, but in an age when womanhood was alive in the world, to be seen and sensed. And Naomi even at twelve sensed it.
Spring touches some lands gently with a haze of green so faint it might be a trick of the eyes. In that way Naomi felt the approach of womanhood in her. Within her a warmer sun was rising. But in the warmth and push to growth and blossoming, the beautiful innocence, even holiness, of childhood remained. For Naomi was a beautiful child, and the light of wonder that can shine through a child from a land most adults forget or destroy, lit Naomi’s manner and heart.
It was in this way the child/woman in her loved David. It was a love undimmed by doubts or questionings, untarnished by adult desires, but as powerful as only the sunrise of her growing womanhood could make it.
So, one day, in a quietness after they had walked and laughed together, she sat before him and quietly, but with strength, asked him if he would wait for her, perhaps for years, so they could be wed. And David, looking at her during a long silence, and wiping away one solitary tear called out by Naomi’s clear feelings streaming through her, said he would.
It was then they made a promise that, without knowing it, neither of them could keep.
For life harvested David early in his years, and he carried his promise with him.
Naomi? She lived her life, but always with a sacred grove in her kept waiting for the promise to be fulfilled.