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Rain falls softly; a gentle descending mist. It’s warm, warm for late November. The trees are thick with moss beneath the evergreen boughs. The leafless beings of trees are awash in pale, icy green; a token of lichen given by the nearness of the saltwater.

Open garage door. Wait. Ride. Flying down the damp asphalt, gentle rain coating my face. Glide across the bridge. Halt.

The tide rushes beneath the bridge. High, high tide. The waters are filled with miniature rivers of red-brown fir needles, and tattered fall leaves. Moon jellies float by, caught up in the movement of the waters, gently palpitating like a heart–like a sliver of the moon. Moonbeams in life form.

Two bald eagles wing by. Boats gently sway in our small harbor. Seals rest on the boom, while others swim around among the boats.

Peace, peace. Today is a day of peace. Let it fill my soul.

Black huckleberries are sweet in my mouth. I have discovered a treasure, and I am glad. Soon I will eat cranberries–my favorite. It is, after all, Thanksgiving.

Watch the distant shores of the islands. Wishing to fly. Wishing to glide. If I had more time, if my back wasn’t hurt, if it wasn’t Thanksgiving Day, I would go out exploring. I’d explore so far that no one would ever find me. I’d enter another realm–my Faerie realm.

Let me tell you of it, even though it doesn’t exist: It is a perfect place. My knees are not injured from long years of dancing. My back and neck are not hurt at all. Nothing bad ever happens there. My soul finds rest there.

I am describing heaven, I think, though I call it my Faerie realm. No matter how much I love this place–Washington, the rain, the sea, the mountains, the forests, I still long for another place. I long for that Faerie place. I long for heaven.

One day, my Jesus will take me home. Until then, I shall follow the path He lays for my feet.

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