The Blind Man

March 6, 2012
The freshness of the air. It hasn’t smelled this good in a long time. Fresh roses, blooming day lilies, popping tulips, all the wondrous flowers around me. I reach down to feel the gently blown grasses around my feet.

I hear the birds chirping in the nest above me, little animals scurrying to their homes, and the wind in my ears. As I open my mouth, I am flooded with the tastes of sweet honeysuckle, sugary nectar, and sticky tree sap.

I stand still, drinking in my environment. I have wanted this peace for a long lonely time. My daughter brought me here, but strangely I do not sense her near me. Oh well, I think, more for myself to enjoy. I take a few tentative steps, so as not to disturb the peaceful nature.

I feel a steep edge next to my foot. I crouch and feel for the supposed cliff. To my horror the edge gives way where I stand. I fall down into a space, unable to do anything but scream.

I land on something very soft. I run my hand over it. I believe it is my comforter. I listen and hear my daughters soft snoring. I hear the long beep of a heart monitor. Quick footsteps enter the room but I barely hear them. I am drifting back to my field. Before I am completely gone, I hear my daughter whisper, “Goodnight, Dad.”

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