Lost in a dark and very ancient valley, a man gives up hope, wandering barefoot and directionless. He leans back against a tree, his head in his hands and he doesn’t see the trunk bend to accommodate him, to ease the pain, to cradle him. He doesn’t see the hawk like face in the stone of the stream behind him, opening her eyes, aware that another creature had spiritually connected. The dark hills crowd around but he doesn’t realise that they are buffering the cold wind. The grass is short and soft and he is hardly aware of the warm carpet it has provided. He remains curled as the gurgle of trickling water in the brook pacifies him. A blackbird sings a melody in nearby woodland before a silent dark blanket gently pulls overhead. By dusk he finds peace and a sense of direction. He stands up, walks tall and purposefully and is suddenly acutely aware that he’s been comforted by nature, at one with the earth and in his natural element.
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