Regaining his center, he became placid with
the wisdom of silence, until the shoots that stirred within him were
ready to blossom once more in true speech. Sylviana was becoming
concerned, but he had not forgotten her.
'All my days,' he said finally, 'I've judged life by the
pale shadow of it in which I've often been forced to live, never
guessing that the heart. . .the very bones of it. . .are ALIVE.' He
paused.
'It seems to me now, as it did when I was a child, that no hope, no
dream is ever fully lost, so long as the least fragment remains alive
inside you. It becomes like a seed---sleeping, dormant. But not dead.
Until, if we can endure, and fight our way to a better place where sun
and water yet flow, it is called gently back to life.'
He looked at her, tears streaming down his face. 'I am alive! And
you, my endless miracle. Are alive, and here with me.'
She took his hand, so close, and pressed it to her lips.
'Be gentle, my loving Kalus. Be gentle. There are still so many
wounds.'
Never, it seemed to him, had she spoken more truly. For he now felt in
the wrenching of his heart, as surely as if the flesh itself ached and
bled, the many scars that lay across him. He became quiet, and put his
head against her, knowing that for all his yearning, patience alone
would heal him, and make those forgotten dreams possible.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234