There are places on earth where heaven has descended. I can see it; in patches.

Spirits fly across rain-soaked fields, weaving in between the living children that splash through the soggy carpet of sod. In the little clearing, I watch the ghosts as they rejoice in each raindrop joining the vast puddle the earth has become. Laughter echoes between the trees that surround the clearing, some as new as light and others as old as darkness.

They dance under the open clouds, frolicking in wild circles, brushing the cheeks of the living as they sprint over the sweet wet grass. All these souls are as near to me as the dripping dandelions at my feet and the sleeping moths tucked safe under the bark of the trees at my side. As I stare at the collision of heaven and earth, I feel a soft, inexplicably fragrant warmth take hold of me. Arms wrapped around me. The caring essence of someone I once knew. Souls are almost indistinguishble from one another.

They are just free.

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