The Dervish.

It was raining heavily.

A beautiful sunset melting into the darkness of the night against the backdrop of tired birds flying back to their intricate nests, had perfectly completed the painting of her imagination. And the melodious reminder of life that was hitting the wooden roof of her cottage was tranquilizing her soul. She was at peace.

Glancing down at the book in her lap, she thoughtfully sipped on her tea. It was deliciously warm in her big, yellow mug. Smiling at her eccentricity, she read the inscription on the ceramic :
“When I was a child, I saw God, I saw angels;
I watched the mysteries of the higher and lower worlds. I thought all men saw the same.
At last I realized that they did not see.…
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