The Hour Before Dawn

wpid-img_20151109_150408358_hdr.jpgIt is an hour before dawn and I drive alone with the shadow of death riding on my bumper. I can hear the subtle click, click, clicking as he tries to pick the lock on my back door.

I don’t have time for the Reaper, however grim he may be, or whatever shadow he chooses to cast on my floorboards.

The light comes. The jet trails are pink scars on the skin of the sky. Some desperate creature has tried to force his way into heaven.

With grace and perserverance, someday he may break through.

October 12, 1997

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