STONES OF FIRE

By Tessa Harvey

CHAPTER FOUR

Diane typed away in a corner of the office. She was responsible for a small piece in the newspaper designed to encourage or cheer readers in some way. she dug out a poem written some time ago, carefully balancing her coffee and taking small gulps as she did so:-

                                      Winter Mornings On The Lake

Snow hung heavy on the bracken

In the silence of the mornings; nothing stirred,

Green fern drooped, trailing

Mirror'd in the trickling water

Of the shallow grey-rocked stream.

Across the grass the dark firs slept

In tangled day-glooming, tall and strong

Wraithed in mist...

             It hangs silent

             dream-wrapped, intense

             Over the obscure lake.....

The morning light flickers in beauty 

Dances on the crested snow-crags

Breaks minutely on the clear-ice pool 

Reflecting the sky.....

            By the lake

            Ol small silver birch

            Tiptoes still, held in frost-snow.

Dawn

          cascades and falls

                    into living light.

                   --------------------------------------------

A day later Gabe noticed the little poem and suddenly remembered the tarn or pool nestled in one of the small valleys close to the summit of a steep crag. So peaceful.

Then he recalled the clinging, creeping mist, obscuring sounds and all vision, shrouding him in near-panic and fear, and how the light had come as he asked for help and had led him to safety.

Not long after, he was ushered in to see the doctor.

"Ah Gabe!" the friendly man welcomed him, smiling. "How are you doing? I haven't seen you for a while." He examined Gabe carefully, then sent him for more tests.