Caussey's Corner

Caussey’s Corner: Pathway of Gold

By  | 
Tony Maples Photography


Summer finally arrived some time ago, and did so with blistered vengeance. Temperatures well over 100 settled uncomfortably over the community unlike white gloves on Jacqueline Kennedy. Even the nights were hot, hovering around 90 degrees, which kept me out of my flower garden, leaving my Gerber daisies for the grasshoppers to pillage.

But one night was memorable. The sky was clear with only an occasional wolf cloud for Lady Moon to hide behind. The sidewalk that stretches from behind my house through the park leading to the lake called Emerald was like a crystal pathway, bidding me to follow. The patient moon smiled at me like a New England Lighthouse would comfort a wayward vessel; seemingly to guide me past remembered shrubs and trees to the lake. The night air hung Babylonian heavy with moonlight, as fireflies played “find me” in the darkness.

Like a silken cover the moon bathed the lake, leaving her celestial presence on white-topped water. Frogs and other night creatures orchestrated sounds that kept beat to the wind-stirred current. Live oak and cottonwoods danced in warrior fashion as summer breezes stirred them from afternoon slumber.

Claiming one of the park benches near the water, I sat there contemplating my day’s activities. A day filled with computers, writing, telephone, appointments, and all the other existing work accouterments that seem to consume my time.

Slowly, like sap drips from a New Hampshire maple tree, the fatigue, stress, pressure and tension oozed from my pleading pores, only to dissolve into the consuming moonbeams.

A spirited peace settled on the tip of my soul as my mind relaxed, comforted by the blessed experience.

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Photo: @christinagracewalker via Twenty20

Moon shadows on the far shore seemed to depict far away movements in the high grass. My imagination journeyed into the depth of mind to fathom an encampment of gypsies, a village of elves, or maybe a conclave of witches who had gathered on the distant shore. But it wasn’t, it was only the magic of the moon. Unexpectedly, across the lake from the location of the elf’s village, carried on summer winds an enchantment. Drums sounded through the forest. The night creatures became still, even the stars felt obligated to withhold their twinkling silence. A Celtic pipe summoned all to gather at the sacred place. The spell of Somnus was broken. A strong Irish tenor voice walked across the water, as I held tightly to the park bench. The voice spoke, as there appeared a background chorus of chanting for the words.

We are the spirits of the lake, the guardians of the forest.

        With our voices we sing of legends once told but now forgotten in the memories of man

        Stories remembered only in the eyes of children, or in the liquid hearts of lovers.

        But for us to reveal ourselves must first come the belief in us by you.

Believe that all things living are tied together with the same thread of life that bound us together before The Departure. All these threads lead to the one and only Eternal Great Spirit.

Nature is an uncontented force in perpetual motion. Humans play a part in this force of the whole, but have the power to change natural occurrences that lead to the status of nature’s nobility

        This power uncontrolled leads to the destruction of all known living.


The voice seemed to pause for a moment, as the drums and chanting became louder. Then there was complete silence, as the universe and heavens gathered to hold their collective breaths. Then these last words were dispatched by the golden voice.


        All beings are to love each other and protect the forests and lakes.

        Treat all with kindness, and forgive as the evergreens do the winter.

With these last words, all was silent. Then the crickets and frogs started their laughter song and the night birds began to move about in the trees. I looked up into the bright night sky and again the pathway was bathed in gold. But this time a pathway that led back home.

Durhl Caussey writes for publications across America. He may reached at this outlet or [email protected].