November 8, 2014


On the hardest days I imagine an afterlife, free from pain and loneliness.

Someday I'll take a trip.  A fabulous trip, far from familiar sights and sounds.  The kind of trip you spend a lifetime dreaming of but never think will happen.  At the end of the journey I arrive in a village of everyone I've ever loved.  There isn't a rush of hellos, just a quiet walk as I meet every loved one who traveled before me.  At the edge of the village, a cottage of my own, with a bee loud glade and flowers blooming around every corner.

The first afternoon I climb the highest mountain, easy as cresting a hill, and view the whole valley crumpled below like the lines on my palm.  Winds gust up the mountain peaks and I fall into one, riding it down to the green valley.  I lie in a sunny field among high grasses and wildflowers, soaking in the warmth.  Every happy summer day that came before was but a shadow of this pleasure.  Butterflies dance along my arms and perch on my hair to wish hello. As the sun sets an evening barbeque awaits, and bottles of cold lemonade are passed around, hot buttery ears of corn nibbled, and ribs cover everyone's face with sticky-spicy-sweet sauce.  The sun sets as a band begins playing and we all dance for hours under the full moon.  Our feet never tire or misstep. The moon sets and fireflies appear as we murmur to sleep on the soft green lawn.  A mother sings a lullaby and we all become her child.


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