smoke-crystals

Updated: May 28, 2025

He was no longer afraid of it, but would lie for hours listening to its murmurs over its pebbly bed, and sometimes even sleep in the hollows of its banks, or below the willows that overhung it. Every here and there, a brown rivulet from some peat-bog on a hill brown and clear, like smoke-crystals molten together, flowed into it, and when he had lost it, guided him back to his guide.

George MacDonald - Sir Gibbie