A Dream

Sweat running down my forearms and face, I curse, wiping the swelter from my brow as it leaks into my eyes. The sun is pounding down upon my head and my clothes are soaked as though I was swimming all day long. A gust of wind rises and carries a swath of dust that carelessly covers my face and arms in streaks of grey. The humming scream of the machine whirs is my head drowning out the peaceful sounds of nature.
The top of the bluff where I stand, overlooks a wondrous Eden filled with tiny figures frolicking in and on the river’s edge. Even from the distance I can see the most glorious angel lying with her shades and a wide-brimmed hat on her hammock between two trees. Relaxed, yet aware of the children who play all about her, and of course the fishing pole lodged in the fork of a slender branch thrust into the ground a few feet away.
A loud snapping sound tears me from my reverie, and I turn just in time to see a length of metal hurtling toward my head from the machinery, which is now howling in outrage from a lack of water. I throw myself to the ground in a heap of dust and cuttings narrowly avoiding the rod as it plummets over the edge of the hill. Reaching up, I stop the machine before it does more damage, and survey the scene. Filthy with rage I stomp off the bluff to race down the trail back to the aerie of the angels.
After a few moments the sounds of children in full flight slam into my ears knowing that just over the next rise they will surround me with innocent questions. Aware of the mask of irritation from the machine’s breakdown I draw a smile to my face knowing what lies ahead. As certain as the sunrise I am mobbed just as I crest the last hill. Carrying the youngest and with the others in tow, I head off seeking desperately for the vision, which will make everything better. She never runs to me, and always has the calm of a catnap, but this time when I turn the last treed corner, her hammock lies empty. Curious but not surprised I shoo the children off as best I can and head for the shed to find materials for the drill to run again. The children are like a pack of puppies always at arm’s length and filled with more questions than a court case.
Rummaging through boxes looking for the object I need to continue working I notice that she has still not arrived. Standing to stretch, I head for the doorway to see that her hammock yet lies empty and there is no sign of her. Smiling at her mischief I look at our eldest son and ask him to look for her in the house. He runs off with his younger brother in tow. The two girls are chasing butterflies and their youngest brother is heading back to me, upset that he cannot keep up with them. Hoisting him up in the air he screams with delight and wraps his arms around my neck. Pulling him away I notice that much of the dirt on my body has mysteriously transferred to his face and shirt. Knowing that it is much too late to worry I let him hold tight to my neck and bend to the ground where he regains his feet. He of course hammers me with a barrage of questions, “What’cha doin’? What’cha lookin’ for? When are you coming swimming with us? What’s for dinner?” Until I tell him what it is that I need. He starts looking in earnest and I am drawn to sounds beyond the doorway. The girls suddenly march right up to their brother and take him by the hand, he fights to stay but they show him a beautiful yellow and black butterfly that they have captured in a jar and he is mesmerized.
(con't)