The rain had made the most delightful noise on the roof with the afternoon thunderstorm, and I fell asleep on the sofa beside the fire. Awake now, I had to tell you what I saw, witnessed, felt in a way, as if in a dream or another reality, I really don’t know, but here goes.
“Oh no, It’s a boy,” she gasped with the little breath she had left from birthing him, then asked, “Size of his head?”
“I’m sorry but it’s a small head and he has the face of a woman, it’s always boys from these devils, they never sire girls.” the Midwife exclaimed.
Most of the women in the birthing tent looked away, unable to face what this new mother must do.
“His head is not a warrior’s head, nor is his face, you must return him to the water now, do not look at his face, do not make that connection,” pleaded the Midwife. The Midwife and her helpers wiped her clean, helped her to stand and get balanced for the task. The Midwife swaddled the small boy in a deer pelt and made sure to cover his face. With that he started to cry and it was a strong cry, as the midwife placed the baby in the mother’s arms, gently preventing her hand from lifting his face cover.
Holding the baby close to her chest, the new mother walked down to the water with her son.
The moon was full and reflected on the dark lake, there was a soft warm breeze. By now,the baby had stopped crying. Had the doeskin become a shroud she wondered, half hoping the child passed.
Could he have known he was not wanted, but no, no,
he was wanted, she didn’t want to remember
those angry foreign faces and the violence in which he was conceived.
There was still no sound from the baby, if he had passed, she needed to look upon his face so they could find each other in the next life.
Pulling back the pelt, there he was, with features as delicate as a girl’s, the moonlight then baptised this vulnerable creature, he was half her people, but mostly looked like the others, the violent ones. In his face, she saw all the ancestors, all the past and just knew, she must choose flight. She put the little animal skin craft in the water, placed the child safely in the bottom of the boat, took the oar and set out with her newborn son.
Now that I’m journaling, I can understand that this vision showed there was a time before. A time in the past where ancient tribes and animals roamed until they were no more.
Echo Island on Hollow Lake
The Arrival.
