Читать книгу Forbidden Graces, Book One: Beginnings - Carol Inc. Bridges - Страница 10

Mist like the Earth's breath rose to kiss the birds good morning. The trees shed their dew. The frogs took their morning bath. I took off my garden shoes and sat for awhile on the weathered bench. This is it, I thought. It has been good.

Next thing I know, I am in the kitchen, but it is a new kitchen. Same old cabinets, plain and brown, dishes with the delicate iris flower painted on the rim, a vase with a lone daffodil. But, everything is clean as a raindrop. No crumbs on the counter. The broom stands tall in its place as if it were just promoted to a desk job. The evening newspaper is gone. In fact, there are no stacks of anything, no books, no mending, no cups to be washed.

I walk around. It seems the whole house has been renewed. "Must be angels," I think. Then, I hear your footsteps coming down the stairs. "I'm going to play the flute," you say. And you pass me by with a wink and a twinkle in your eye.

"The flute?" You have been a farmer, a hard-worker, an everyone-can-depend-on-me kind of guy. You have worked the land, built our home, raised our children, fed the goats and chickens, mended the fences, dug the ditches, repaired the equipment, provided the food, and now, you are going to play the flute you say. As if you have ever played a flute in your entire life!

I sit down again. Breathe. I notice there is no glass in the windows. Very strange. I see you out there in the field dancing. Dancing! As if there is no work to be done. Well, actually there doesn't seem to be any work. I lay back in the chair, the big, fat-armed chair that belonged to Grandmother. It almost feels as if she is holding me now.

Grandmother. I think of her and drift into sleep. She tells me all my work is done.