Praise Routine No. 4

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Michael Rands. Praise Routine No. 4

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Praise Routine Number 4

Michael Rands

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I sat completely still. It was a quiet morning and the rain had stopped. From my garden I can see the top of Devil’s Peak, the chisel-shaped rock, which at that moment was covered in grey cloud and truly looked like the forehead of Satan. I put my hands on the ground to try and push myself up. They sank into the mud. At that moment I almost felt like giving up. But then, suddenly, I felt a very sharp point stick into the palm of my hand. It sent a shock of pain up my arm. I felt around to see what it was, but now it was gone.

I decided I had to find it. I was angry with everything that was going on around me, and I was channelling all this anger toward whatever it was that had split my skin. I dug around in the mud until I managed to locate the offender. I got onto my knees and started working my right hand underneath it. My hand was painful and the cold was making it worse. I took hold of it, leant back and pulled with all my weight. Out it came, bringing with it an explosion of water. I jumped to my feet, turned my back against the white glaring sky. I wanted to focus on the mysterious object in my hand. It was still covered with mud, so I dipped it back into the water and rinsed it clean. When I held it up again I could see that what I was holding was definitely a bone.

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