He wrote of children, running through fields of yellow flowers. He wrote of liturgies, and prayers through the hours. He wrote of music, of heavenly sounds. He wrote continuous, as the bombs fell around.
Instead of writing a poem today for the WordPress Daily Prompt, I thought I would just give you some prose from my own story. The Daily Prompt asked “Write page three of your autobiography.” So I dusted off a copy of mine and offer it here for your illumination.
The Tom Tale
Despite assurances from military decontamination teams, and home visits from government medical personal, the town was not ready to forgive or trust me.
True, I may have set the calamity in motion. But it was likely that a city wide disaster such as this was inevitable.
The town that night had an eerie quiet about it. With the exception of a few howling dogs and people moaning from the swelling, I could hear very few of the residents cursing and yelling threats.
Perhaps the tide was turning.
Just then a thought struck me. There was something I had forgotten. It was important. But I couldn’t remember. I searched my brain for an answer that I knew was critical. I remember!
At the very instant I recalled my forgotten information the night sky lit up with a huge fireball from the south side of town. “Oh Oh,” I thought, “If I only would have recalled sooner.”
A stampede of cattle from the field near the flaming explosion rushed through the neighborhood streets and yards. I could hear mooing and screaming, along with more cursing, as my neighbors cars, lawn furniture and homes were crushed under the thundering herd.