Ch. 3 "The Old Soul"

A Story by exotic flotsam

A rodent few would consider touching at all, she gently lifted his shattered body away from piercing sharp thorns, over to a shaded spot in the soft grass. Shaded cool green grass. A resting place to which he could not even crawl. So she took him. A place of calm and heart's comfort. At least she was doing something.

At best, she sadly sought to ease a fatally injured squirrel out of our world. So she comforted God's critter as she might, softly lilting her unsaid words upon his soft, quivering fur, as downy feathers floating on air. Her eyes offered tearful sorrow. Hoping for quiet solace in its last breath. Loved by other critters. Us. Understanding what it is to be living. Lyly would not leave.

Why did she so deeply care? Why wouldn’t all of us? I've often for some years, asked myself, "Where does this come from? Why don't more of us have it?" I don't even know what it is, really. No one can simply choose the Elysian gift. Such gifts live inside them, in their hearts. From birth. They are gifts to the rest of us.