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Exemplary Exercises for Children (about 5th grade
level)
In the land across
the sea, close to the borders of the near and the far, in the
sunshine, after new rain – Keith and I were splashing in the mud
puddles with our favorite yellow boots. Then we chased a butterfly
who seemed to know where to go and sing.
Flutter how
spritely brightening wing
Open your eyes
forth and outward to swing
Follow the
patterns I long to reveal
In pictures of
passage from flower to hill
Taking the trail
of the open dome of the sky and the high growing Queen Ann’s lace,
we set a good pace past the rose buds to the shed where the younger
Carol and Connie were making mud pies fresh from the
rain.
These had been
leavened with dandelion puffs and bird berries for a spice, then
covered with pebbles and feathers and laid in the sun to dry, in
hope that in time for afternoon tea, Ichabod would
arrive.
And indeed, up
from the ground, popped he. He’s attired in green and small as can
be, with gold on his head, hands and heels, and we children all
followed him under the ground such sights there to see, adventures
to hear unbound through the years in the span from a wink to a
smile. Here’s how he told his tale:
‘Many thousands of
years
Before you folks
cam here
There was a land
under the ground
Call
Tooln.
A gold land it
was
For deep shone the
sun
I was known there
as Ikal Pahdmoot
of the
Krienol’s
We were surely not
dwarves
nor were we
elves
But we knew of
them both
And as I just told
– We were Krienols!
And I saved the
King
King Kroleen of
Tooln
who was good,
strong and true
And to this day is
too
Though he’s
gone.
I sought out the
herbs
Roots, grasses and
trees
which were healing
to man
which he would
still need;
After the
flood
had covered the
ground
And the new
land
Would be
revealed.
Such seeds as we
sowed
Were to be
preserved
In the
caverns
Of crystal
quartz
Many thousands of
years
May yet go
by
Before they again
thrive
In the gardens of
Krienols and men.
But the others, my
Krienol friends
Have all gone
away
Deeper under the
ground
Too much digging
goes on
By you men all
around
And a Krienol
needs his peace
So my folks went
away
But I chose to
stay.
With you earth
children friends
Awaiting the
day
When the seeds
shall be planted again.’
-
Katherine
Rudolph
Now three places
in space are all that remains of the age-old domain of Tooln: the
underground Tower, the round council room with the shimmering pool
of Krie. And deeper yet can still be sought, the caverns of crystal
quartz, for there are preserved the seeds.
Now on that warm
summer day when the mud pies were made and baked in the light of
the sun, we all took off, on a run to the shimmering pool of Krie,
with Ichabod in the lead.
Now we neared the
stream that bubbles and churns, round mossy roots all entwined. A
patch of sun shone here and there as the voice of waters flow
seemed to chortle and rhyme, telling me of its pebbled path.
Ichabod led us down watery streams (lo – we became as small
as he) and on a milk pod boat with gossamer sail, we rode that
crystal stream through tunnel and cave to the council chamber built
round and carved in white.
In the centre, a
silvery pool was aglow. ‘Twas the shimmering pool of Krie where
picture stories were told and seen and myriad riddles unfold. In
the star-eye of KARU we learned to behold. Why the clover loves the
rose; How the seed is kindled in night. Where did the stamen meet
with the sylph, how the roots and stems are tended by elves and
gnomes and of one called Binky for short and why. And a quest road
opened in time, a road to the near and the far where all was
revealed just a length from the brook that bubbles and
rhymes.
But on the very
first time, when Connie and Carol and Keith and I (brothers and
sisters were we) first gazed into the shimmering pool of Krie dark
waters was all we did view then Ichabod told us the
rule:
‘You can gaze in
dark waters
For as long as you
please
But you won’t see
a thing
If you don’t have
the KEY
What question do
you seek?’
For the shimmering
pool of Krie can only picture stories that see-that is-which
already live in the heart and the eye of the seeker. But whether a
seeker at the pool can bring fruit from a story learned in Tooln,
in present or future, to do a good deed, will always depend on
whether or not he remembers to remember the KEY. Why out of the
shimmer of the Krienol Pool we learned ‘The Legend of the Star’,
‘Iggie the Dwarf’ and ‘The Mustard-Lady’s Surprise’… But as I said
on that very first time when we gazed, it was Connie, the smallest
who wanted to see ‘How does the Moon find the lost sheep on the
hills in the darkest night?’
And before we
could blink an eye, there in a twinkling, the pool ‘gan to glow and
high on a hill we saw shepherd Mo. He was gazing up on a cloudy
night, looking about the sky.
‘Whenever the moon
and stars are set
Whenever the wind
is high
All night long in
the dark and wet
A man goes riding
by
Late at night when
the stars are out
Why does he wander
and wander about?
By at the gallop
he goes and then
By he goes back at
the gallop again.’
-
R.L.
Stevenson
Up in the air Mo
saw the sky and became entranced with the play of wind, and clouds
and stars. His 25 sheep were peacefully keeping in the hollow below
the ridge. He hardly even noticed how darkened the sky, and gusty
the wind had become; when the storm was upon him.
‘Loudly blew the
bitter blast
Hail and rain were
falling fast
Bank and
bushes bleak
and bare
Chilling bit the
fighting air!’
- From
'Journey Through Time in Verse and Rhyme - Poems collected by
Heather Thomas'
The torrents of
bitter weather forced Mo to tend to his sheep. Then the storm
flashed by but left the night sky still over clouded and low. But
where, where was all the fold? And Mo began to seek and saw
that:
‘Rippling and
rustling, restless the rill
Rattled and
clattered a-down a steep hill.
Rolling and rising
o’er ridges of rock,
It frightened and
scattered his frisky sheep flock!’
-
Anon
Oh, no! The sheep
had scattered in all directions, all over kingdom come. And worse
than this a thin white mist spread over the rocky hill; weirdly it
seemed to echo and ring with the tolling of a lost bell. And out of
the black came a cackle and gak. ‘Twas a sound that Mo knew
well.
‘Which winds whisk
when the witches frisk?
With claws for
their toes and brooms for a whisk
Hark, to the
whisper of bells in the mist.
While the
whirlwinds whistle whither they list.’
-
Anon
“U”
In great alarm he
called to the moon on the other side of the hill. He knew it was
due to grace the night sky so he spoke these words with all of his
might:
‘Moon on the field
and the foam
Moon on the mount
and the wold
Moon, bring them
home, bring them home.
Safe from the dark
and the cold,
Home, sweet moon,
bring them home,
Safe with the
flock to the fold.’
-
Anon
And through the
blur in the mist and the dark, the moon ‘gan to glow and gleam. His
sheep only numbered 16. So again he sounded the rhyme. And this
time 4 more appeared. Now he still was missing 5. So once more, he
sounded the verse as the moon rose in the night sky.
‘Moon on the field
and the foam….’
And, ‘lo in the
dark, 5 white marks came bleating along the hillside. And back in
the hollow under the ridge, there gathered all 25:
‘Slowly, silently
now the moon
Walks the night in
her silver swoon
This way and that
way
She turns and she
sees
Silver lambs and
silver sheep.’
Then in a
twinkling and whirl, the shimmering pool of Krie gleaming with
blue, darkened its view in the council chamber of age old Tooln,
and we climbed on our ship with gossamer sails on the crystal
stream, and found our way safely home through the trees.
But as we stepped
off the magic path in the bushland purple and green, Ichabod Mud
was gone again in the span from a wink to a smile.
-Leela
Toomkoh
©
Copyright 2005 Katherine Rudolph, Exploring The Word in Colour and
Speech | 