Ancestors

Wind swooshed through the branches of the dancing oak, as the white light of the twilight faded. i knelt before the stone; the oncoming storm spoke through the voice of my ancestors. I heard them. “Though the storm rages loud and strong, it will calm, quiet; the damage restored, the broken healed. Life never ends.”

http://srilankastories.blogspot.com/2013/05/may-14-ancestor.html

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