A MORNING in mid-May, 1934, found me in my garden working over a flower bed. This garden is in a forest overlooking a stream of water in Northland.

From childhood the Blessed Ones have taught me to listen to the language of the flowers when I am among them, have taught me consciously to receive the refreshment and nourishment given out by the flowers. Life-long habit has raised my consciousness during the flower-communing periods.

On this special morning I became conscious of what lacking in a more comprehensive term, I call “overshadowing.” I felt not only in tune with the Heights, but expectant, aware, expectant; yet nothing by way of inspiration came in, as is often the case during such moments of awareness.

Presently I looked up into the sky noting the blue expanse. All before me above the tree tops across the water was blue, so blue I made a mental note of it; the all blue sky, the beauty of the morning so impressed me and abides with me that the consciousness of it is very distinct even as I now write. I could not continue my activity, so I sat on the ground quietly, scarcely enjoying woods, water and sky.

Clearly before my eyes formed two long narrow white clouds, one from the East, one from the West. These clouds floated slowly but definitely toward each other in a way that caught my attention and I felt. These two white clouds met, merged, and slowly formed a white cloud Cross in the field of blue; a definite, not to be mistaken White Cross! At this time there was not a trace of another white cloud in my range of vision.

I remember at this point of my observations being called to the telephone. Reluctantly I answered the bell. When I returned the Cross was in the same position, clear, unchanged. Also I remember the texture of the Cross felt to me soft, like fluffy, embracing, tender clouds, yet it was firm in model and unchanging. I recall that when other clouds later came and passed over the Cross and covered it in the passing, I expected it to be wiped out. But not so. It held its position.

For some time it conveyed nothing to me in impression or inspiration. Finally I returned to the work of the flower-bed,