The Seed

Once again, the familiar meadow overlooked by the cave.

Blink. She was inside the cave. But this time there was a difference. A calm pool of cold water sat in the corner. She knelt down and took a drink from the pool before beginning her descent. Tonight, the descent was gradual, giving her time to admire the many rock formations, pools and large caverns passed along the walk. At the end of the walk was a small barrenly empty room. At the far side of the room was a tiny exit doorway no bigger than a mouse hole.

Blink. She was through the mouse hole and in a breathtakingly beautiful field of wildflowers. They stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see. There were no paths that could be seen and she was overwhelmed by the sight, the brilliance, the smells.

She looked up and saw a lone hawk slowly, soaring in ever widening and ever rising circles above her. She watched it, thinking that perhaps it would come down to greet her. She asked it to come down, but it continued to circle higher and higher – away from her.

Eyes glued to the hawk, she began to walk, following her instince that it was leading her. It led her to the edge of a dense woodsy area. She entered the woods and found, as if dropped out of a picture book, a perfect English cottage. It was surrounded by a lovely garden. The walls were yellow. The roof was thatch. Without hesitation she entered.

The ceilings were low – the floor dirt. There were herbs drying on the walls. In one corner was a plain double bed adorned by a handmade quilt and two pillows. The kitchen area was small, clean and gadget free. It was chock full of roots and foodstuffs. There was a square wood table with it’s top covered in 3″ hand painted tiles. The colors were amazing on that tabletop and the pattern was an intricate geometric design.

There was no visible clue in the cottage of the gender of its owner, yet there was a prevading feeling of masculine energy. She noticed pictures on the wall and she looked at them. In one she saw a man she had recently met attired as a warrior. In another she saw her son as an angel. The other pictures seemed out of focus and she sat down to wait.

Someone soon entered. She first saw his shoes – knee high leather moccasins that were well worn. Her eyes moved up across leather pants and a leather shirt. There was long black hair caught in two braids fastened by feathers. The face was strong, craggy and somewhat pock marked.

“Are you my Guide?”

“Who else would I be?”