Like a fawn, the tiny girl stands nearby and says nothing. She watches it all and still stays silent, safe in her stillness, smooth water shining.
I make my breath even quieter until it is so gentle that a seedling with only two soft little leaves would not bend. There is no harm here, no push. Only breath.
Here is another little one, a small boy. He has pushed himself back under a bush. I only know he’s there because I see the tip of his sneaker.
The light shining on the water calls them to this place. Even these gentle ones come into the clearing for a little while. No one knows about it but the Spirit.
There is a touch soft enough to reach them. It’s the scent of the water, the perfume on the Spirit’s kind arms. This is beyond me and you, a softness we struggle to imagine. Fairies, wisps, a flicker, the memory of a few low notes that dance slowly just behind our closed eyes.
How can I become soft enough? I still myself, letting go of everything except the shining itself. I can’t really see it. I have to trust Spirit’s knowing. With time, I catch a glimpse of it.
They’re safe here. The flow is so gentle that the tiny girl touches it and smiles. Kneeling, I see my own face in the smooth water, and behind me thousands more. I smile too and reach out for home.
© 2017 by Jean E Gendreau