Billows of fog are quickly creeping in, white as smoke, forming into a wavy set of steps suspended...quivering, and now beckons to me,
a soft voice calls my name tells me not to be afraid...that it's okay to climb the foggy stairs, "i'll be there to meet you at the top," the voice assured me...
i must see the owner of the soft voice, i feel i know him...he knows me well! my right foot hesitates...but rises, to take a step...
suddenly, a blow on my right arm makes me open my eyes π π
my sister, sound asleep, turns to my side, and accidentally hits my arm just in time, ::::::::::::::: i was dreaming of my late father, .................................again.
sally b
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan February
(My late father often visited me in my dreams when I was small, until I became a teenager.)