A Turning Point

The man stumbled on, wanting to get as far away as possible the sights he had seen and lived through too terrible to contemplate. How could another human deliberately inflict such awful things on another. He could see a gentle stream of smoke arising from the distant chimney and headed for the shelter it offered, staggering on until he reached it. It was a pretty cottage nestled deep into the hillside and isolated. He tumbled through the door and collapsed on the floor. Mistily he drifted in then out of consciousness unable to focus aware vaguely of a gentle touch that soothed and replenished. He drank from the cup pressed to his lips and then let go. The old lady shook her head at the follies of mankind, and set to work bandaging his festering wounds. She made a drawing potion to clean out the poison that had taken a fierce hold racking him with fever. Then she covered him and stoked up the fire. For three days he lay in a coma muttering about the war, not an ordinary one, oh no, this war caused carnage. Evil stalked the land every hand turned against the other. Sons killing fathers and brothers and to what point? A simple disagreement about Creed had started this. Weakened by the ravages he was slow to fully heal yet he learned much from the old lady causing him to rethink. To look at things with eyes a-new seeing the other point of view. These new values he took with him when he left thanking her gratefully. He set out on a new route, his task now to heal and bring peace. Standing a-midst the crowd on a small hillock he taught them new values not by preaching as such but by parables that showed the way to peace. After all he would say; Pause and Think, For What are We without hope? Everything gone by can be changed, all we have to do is care and act. So lit the small flicker in your heart and fan up a healing blazing flame.