Water's Edge

There is a little girl who sits on a bank of earth overlooking the water's edge of a large lake. She is almost hidden....the grasses of this part of the pasture are tall and are blowing in the wind, as is her long white hair. She doesn't bother to sweep it out of her eyes because it just goes back there anyway. She is only 5, but feels ancient and wise beyond her years and feels secure knowing that where she is no one can hurt her. She is looking out over the lake...it is dark blue and she knows it is deep and has all kinds of things living beneath its surface, but they do not scare her because "Mother" put them there and she is one of them....not one of the people who walk on two legs and wear clothes and goes to church on Sunday and who criticize her because she doesn't. She turns her head to listen more closely to the waves lapping against the shoreline and to hear the wind's whispering through the tall grasses. These are the sounds that she loves to hear. They wrap themselves around her like a cocoon, and are safe here with her.....there are no loud voices or car horns or bouncing basketballs to ruin the peacefulness. "Mother" would not allow that to happen. This is the place the church people call "heaven". She knows this, and she is happy to be the special one who is allowed to be here even if she is still alive. She watches the smooth white driftwood bobbing with the waves along the shoreline. They bump and rub against each other making little groans and pops when the water smacks against them, and seem to be playing leapfrog to try to get onto shore where they will not have to do their endless dance in the water, but can age gracefully on the beach where the cows sometimes come down to drink. She loves the cows. Sometimes when she is lost looking at the little islands that look like freckles on the lake, she hears them surround her gently and quietly, the only sound being the soft pulling of the grasses and the steady cadence of the grinding of their teeth. They do not frighten her, these gentle beasts looming over her. Nor does she frighten them. They look at her with eyes filled with more compassion than she thinks exists in all the rest of the world. These are her people, the ones with the big, wise eyes and the ones that swim beneath the waters, and the tawny grasses sweeping around her. Her dreams live on the islands and in the wind and ride on the backs of driftwood going from who knows where to who knows where or even cares. This is where she belongs and to where she will always come when she needs to feel loved and safe and unafraid. She feels that she was born here and it is here that she will die when that time comes.

The place is real. It may not look like that to anyone who tries to find it now, but it is still there for me and will never change.

Stop Animal Abuse Immediately

This page last updated on May 5, 2003