© Copyright 1962 by Ralph E. Kenyon Jr.
"There's a cold wind blowing softly through a narrow, dark ravine. A sound is heard, soft and everywhere, like the rustle of silk. It echoes from every dismal reaching corner of the abyss, and whispers of the aching loneliness within the crevasse. A cold, blue-white light transcends an aura of weird lifelessness to the jagged rocks of the cleft walls. There appears a soul within all of this, like a thin frail mist, congealing within its center -- a tiny translucent gray cloud."
Source: Ralph Kenyon