It is said that when he was born, he cried uncontrollably for
days. Nothing his mother did would make him stop, and no one knew what
to do. People thought the worst, and assumed the boy was cursed,
possessed, or both. There was pain in the boy’s wail, and his eyes
carrying a tremendous burden of some mysterious design.
The sky turned grey and the winds gathered to watch, going out of their way to see the curious scene. With a flash a man appeared, carrying a smile on his face and a whispering and whistling and then singing. The mother cried tears of joy, and little Tom giggled himself to sleep. The rain stopped pouring, and the winds themselves stopped by.
There was a glint in the man’s eyes, and the mother cried with joy and disbelief. He held her hand and hushed her back to sleep. She never saw him again, and little Tom stopped crying since. But the winds were witness, that little Tom spoke to himself that day, that little Tom met himself.
Tom Yester was a peculiar man.
The sky turned grey and the winds gathered to watch, going out of their way to see the curious scene. With a flash a man appeared, carrying a smile on his face and a whispering and whistling and then singing. The mother cried tears of joy, and little Tom giggled himself to sleep. The rain stopped pouring, and the winds themselves stopped by.
There was a glint in the man’s eyes, and the mother cried with joy and disbelief. He held her hand and hushed her back to sleep. She never saw him again, and little Tom stopped crying since. But the winds were witness, that little Tom spoke to himself that day, that little Tom met himself.
Tom Yester was a peculiar man.