Dear Ida B,
There is a valley of bones on Second Rock Mountain in the Desert
of Arabia, close to the Frankincense tree. These bones were once men, and they
lay there, covered with the dusty memories of centuries. The wind blows over
them, polishing them with sand, and the sun shines down until they
glisten like ivory. These bones are dry indeed.
Once, a man visited the valley of dry bones with a bottle of
water. He also was in pain, and he thought that perhaps he would feel better if
he could bring a little life to the valley of bones. When he poured out the
water on the bones, it evaporated into the wind before it reached them.
The men are lost. Their bones have no hope. Once, they lived
and breathed and had their being, but no longer. Now they have only the lonely
wind, and the thought of a stranger as he passes by. They are lost.
But Ida B, the Fir tells me this will not always be the
case. One day, these bones will come back to life. The man in the moon will
speak to them. He will come down from his silver crater and speak a single word
to the bones. Ligaments and muscles and blood vessels will join themselves to
these dry bones, and they will take on human forms once again. Their rusty shields
will materialize out of the ground beneath them, and they will stand before the
man in the moon. They will stand by no power of their own, and will be
ready to die. These bones will
die for their King in battle.
I love you.
The Birch tree
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