Once I came upon a soul weeping silently by the edge of the woodland pool. It pained me keenly to see a thing so sad, and so I went up to him and touched him lightly on his little white wing. He seemed surprised, and when he looked at me, I saw his eyes with a light in them strangely familiar.
“Did I disturb you, friend?” I asked.
“No, but you touched me where my wing is bruised and painful.”
“And why is it bruised and painful?”
“I flew too far and bravely, and the strong winds buffeted me, and my plumes were torn in the flying wind.”
“And why did you fly so far and bravely friend?”
“I was following the Gleam. Then suddenly a mote got into my left eye, and then my right eye, and I could not see. But my wings are strong and with them I beat the void more mightily than before. In my heart was no longer the memory of the Gleam, but rebellion against the darkness in my eyes.”
“And what then did you do?”
“I vowed vengeance against the void and the darkness, and I forgot the Gleam. Then I flew into a storm that mocked the daring of my strong wings and hurled me down beside this woodland pool. I was looking into the mirror of the pool, for now I can see – that the Gleam is gone. Something has passed away from me.”
“Not forever, friend,” I assured him, “for there are famed doctors here who will lave your bruised wing with ointment and restore your sight so that once more you may follow the Gleam. If you will come with me, I will take you to them where they cure the sick on the steps of the temple.”
“I will come with you because I trust you, because you are so kind,” and in a scarcely audible whisper, “because I am your own soul.”
Then I knew why his eyes had looked so strangely familiar to me. And down the road we walked together, my soul and I, towards the temple whose tall spires gleamed silver bright in the rays of the setting sun.