She dreamed she was standing in
an old grove near an ancient stump (it
used to be the tree with a rope
swing on which she played as a
child, she recalled) and a rock
where the angels sat and
prayed, long ago.

Old wooden houses
moaned softly in
the distance.

She imagined she
could faintly hear the
sound of running water,
but there was none
nearby that she could
see. Perhaps a
stream once flowed
where she now stood,
for the angels to
ease their thirst. If
she ever were to meet
one, she would remember to ask.

The rock had been
here since the
beginning of the world.

It had many stories
to tell, if it could
only talk.


---jrw 8:13pm (sundown)