Demons and Angels
Dear Eugene, What a fabulous night it was only 12 hours ago! God sent angels my way, certainly not because I am holy, but because I am in bad need to see, to be kicked out of my WYSIWYG. Easter Monday was, strangely, a work day for me. I climbed up the roof of my garden shack early in the morning to touch up on some unfinished business, a constant state of disrepair as steadfast as the possibility of rain and wind in our many tomorrows. Then I prepared some Sunday School material and worked an 8-hour shift, chewing my nails through it, as a symphony of roaring mowers outside kept me alert to my dread that I too need to engage my lawn in a first spring tussle, anxiety exacerbated by up-to-the-minute weather app updates prophesying what I could plainly see in the sky with my naked eyes. The rain would stay for more than a week after tonight, a pathetic news broken to me apathetically. "Don't let the sun go down on me..." I moaned. My shift would end at 7, ...