“My frail and failing
body lies upon a pallet of earthen moss and rotting leaves, the loamy scent of autumns
past, laboriously drawn with shallow breath as I stare upward through twisted
branch and tangled limb of gnarled and ancient oak, searching reddened, cloud-strewn
skies for one they call Creator. It is He I wait for now.”
“With trembling fingers
intertwined, my eyes drift slowly shut as peaceful darkness falls upon me,
surrounds me, shrouds me, and shows its truth to me. It is then that my presence
slips away, the great unknown, unknown no more.”
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