The vision was beautiful. Who can say where such things come from?
The tent was reminiscent of childhood camping trips, and the man was my father. He stood in the center of the tent with his hand on the pole in the center. I remember him telling me when I was little not to touch the pole when there was lightning. Always the one to watch over us, I wasn’t surprised that he was standing and my other aunts and uncles were sitting quietly.
“You made it!” he said. That would have been my line if he hadn’t beat me to it. My dad passed last April and the afterlife is never far from my thoughts. One moment I was reclined on my couch recovering from the office virus, listening to a gentle rain recording, and the next moment I was in my father’s presence.
Most things about the supernatural can never be explained. Was this an actual vision, a gift from God or the creative mind at work? It doesn’t matter, really. What I experienced was transcendent and comforting.
Thunder and white strikes of blinding light wake me. I can’t sleep now as my mind goes to how you always protected us.
On summer camping trips, when the storms came, we never got wet. There were canopies on picnic tables, tarps as rain drenched, hot soup, snug sleeping bags and always a dry deck of cards for play.
Loud crashing sounds now, and I lie endlessly awake, waiting for the storm to move into the distance. I wonder if you hear the thunder now, too. There was a time I knew what you thought about. I’m not so sure anymore. Time steals many things from us. One is our ability to think, remember and respond to all that is around us.
You will be back home in a few days, and a new normal will begin. The family will warm the soup, fluff the pillows and mind your every step to keep you from danger.
I’ve been keeping my hands clear from metal tent poles for years now. I’ve held flashlights in my sleep in case I need to move in the night. I’ve practiced taking care of myself for a very long time. Still, approaching storms make my heart race and wish for my father to tell me that everything will be all right.
Sitting on a large rock, the young girl felt its warmth in the middle of winter. Snow-tipped juniper bushes touched the cottony snow mounds. Grey branches rose high above her head. The small berries on the juniper tree were visible. Soon, the girl found it irresistible to jump with wild abandon in the juniper bushes laying low to the ground. She was careful not to break the boughs. I think she was ten years of age.