Falling

Yesterday, as I drove home, the sky fell on me.  Curtains of snow descended over the long rows of mountains around me and white clouds swept against my face like clothesline scarves. The wind shouldered at my car and murmured nonsense in my ear.

I am no longer fearful of storms—not as I was when a small boy.  My fear now is that I will eventually find myself standing at the last bridge that crosses the river with only my shadow at my side.  Is this a rational fear?  How hard need I work to keep such a fear alive?

I am without answers.

We had our discussion.  Our children leaving for places we cannot find on a map.  The wounded and the quick under one God.  Some of the sick, angry.  Some of the sick uplifting themselves.  Money.  Love, only with time.  Honesty, the most precious.

I left you standing there in your alley with powerlines swaying in the air above you and the scent of wet leaves.  We waved at each other as I drove away. 

I swear to you, Jana, it does not hurt when you allow the sky to fall on you.       

 --Mitchell Hegman