the holy ghostMature

They weren’t all unpleasant memories she too had rivers of dreams and I was floating along with her. 

My finest childhood memories were in Pastor Wesley’s presence, his youthful rejoice and dedication to God mixed in my head with light chestnut hair and dark blue eyes, his voice radiated through out my soul and out through my toes. In congregation you could be anyone, do anything, you were not the lone sheep pray to the wicked, but a part of a flock. No one was alone, was wanting, was scared, or dangerous. The flock protected it’s own.

There was no evil.


“This is Edward Black, and you know my son…” My mother introducing us to the neighboring couple at Sunday service “He’s going to be a Minister, aren’t you?”

I had wanted to be a Baptist Minister from the first time I saw a congregation stand to receive the Lords word, a powerful chill and calm overcame me through Pastor Wesley’s words. I was only ten or eleven but I was enamored.

“It would make my mama so proud.” I replied to wide eyes of approval, chubby church ladies grinning in rejoice, and nods of acknowledgment passing between the men who also gathered to meet the mysterious man who would capture their hearts.

“Nothing more nor less my sweet angel.” A gentle smile over took her face and too soon her focus would shift “and Edward is a Historian at the Literary Academy in the City.” The closest city to our small rural town was Camby but she referred to New York, the City. “He’s promised to whisk us away!” That same smile, expired yet holding on, clutching Blacks arm close.

The End

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