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H. E. DAVEY
Stuart D. B. Picken
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“I was desperate for a break from the pressures last year,” she said, “so I asked for a month’s leave and flew back to Scotland. I rented a car, drove north to the island of Skye, and checked into a small hotel that was on the edge of nowhere. It was spring and the life of nature was reviving. I felt a little ray of hope was lighting on me. I went for a climb up the hills, and it being early in the season, there were no other climbers in sight. After pushing my way through a clump of bushes, within a small wooded patch a few hundred feet up, I came on a small pond that was fed by a waterfall.”
I watched her eyes begin to sparkle as she came to this point in the narrative. “I felt as though it was inviting me. I am a Scottish woman with all the inhibitions of our Calvinist tradition, but I resisted myself. I peeled off my clothes and plunged in. I swam under the waterfall, naked, and stood there, letting it wash me. I felt that its cold, fresh, and pure waters were cleansing me, restoring me to a purer self, and healing the wounds that the sufferings of life had inflicted. I felt uplifted and left the pond feeling completely renewed. It was as though I had been born again.”
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