Fynn

Anna thought for a moment, then said, 'Mister, why do you like living in the dark?'
'Living in the dark?' smiled Old Woody. 'I can answer that very easily, but can you understand my answer, I wonder?'
'If it's an answer, I can,' responded Anna.
'Yes, of course. If it's an answer , you can. That's true, only if it's an answer.' He paused, and then, 'Do you like the darkness?'
Anna nodded. 'It stretches you out big. It makes the box big.'
He gave a little chuckle. 'Indeed, indeed,' he said. 'My reason for preferring the darkness is that in the dark you have to describe yourself. In the daylight other people describe you. Do you understand that?'
Anna smiled, and Old Woody reached out a gnarled old hand and gently closed Anna's eyes, held both her hands and settled some inner aspect of himself. This particular little spot in London Town looked by daylight a shambles; at this moment, in the light of the fire, it was pure magic.
Old Woody's firm and strong voice spoke to his God, to Anna, and to all mankind:

'In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise.'

His nut brown chuckle broke the spell. 'Do you know that one? It's one of Shakespeare's sonnets. They,' he said, and his arms swept out to embrace the world, 'will tell you and encourage you to develop your brain and your five senses. But that's only the half of it, thats's only being half a human. The other half is to develop the heart and the wits.' He ticked them off on one old gnarled hand with the end of his pipe. 'There's common wit, there's imagination, there's fantasy, there's estimation, and there's memory.' Old Woody's face turned upwards, his spirit danced and was warmed out among the stars whilst his body remained with us and was warmed by the old tin can brazier. 'Never let anyone rob you of your right to be complete. The daylight is for the brain and the senses, the darkness is for the heart and the wits - Never, never be afraid. Your brain may fail one day, but your heart won't.' He returned like a comet, leaving behind a shining trail of love.

He stood up and stretched himself, looked around at all the faces, and his gaze stopped at Anna. 'I know you, young lady, I know you well.' He pulled his coat closer round his old shoulders, moved out of the circle of light, and stopped and smiled once more at Anna. He held his arm out to her and spoke:

'Thus doth she, when from individual states
She doth abstract the universal kinds,
Which then reclothed in divers names and fatews,
Steal access thro' our senses to our minds.'

Then he was gone. No not gone, for some part of him, perhaps the biggest part of him, remained and remains even to this day. We stayed looking into the fire for ten minutes or so. We asked no questions, for there were no answers. We didn't even say goodbye to the night people as we left. I wondered if we had left as much behind us at our going.

- Anna and Mister God