Since childhood she had walked the Devon rivers with her father looking for flowers and the nests of birds, passing some rocks and trees as old friends, seeing a Spirit everywhere, gentle in thought to all her eyes beheld.
Since childhood she had walked the Devon rivers with her father looking for flowers and the nests of birds, passing some rocks and trees as old friends, seeing a Spirit everywhere, gentle in thought to all her eyes beheld.
Long ago, when moose roamed in the forest at the mountain of the Two Rivers, otters had followed eels migrating from ponds and swamps to the seas.
From all the ages my soul desired to take that soul-life which had flowed through them as the sunbeams had continually found an earth.
This sunlight linked me through the ages to that past consciousness.
Yet otters have not been hunters in water long enough for the habit to become an instinct.
All the experience of the greatest city in the world could not withhold me.
The eldest and biggest of the litter was a dog cub, and when he drew his first breath he was less than five inches long from his nose to where his tail joined his back-bone.
With the dried blood stiff on my temples I climbed the hill, cursing the satanic way of men, yet knowing myself vile, for they had not known what they were doing, but I betrayed an innocent and the tears - weak, whiskey tears - would not wash from my brow the blood of a little brother.
Every gesture is a gesture from the blood, every expression a symbolic utterance... Everything is of the blood, of the senses.
The moose are gone, and their bones lie under the sand in the soft coal which was the forest by the estuary, thousands of years ago.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories