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Fishing from heaven. The music sounded and they began to enter - the robed man and the six friends of my grandfather

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´╗┐Fishing from Heaven The frost clung to the surroundings as I made my way down the old crooked path. It was early morning and the sun was attempting to wedge its way through the clouds: it remained ice cold. There was little life to be seen - most animals were hidden away from the dangers and cruelty of winter. They had collected their food and were snuggled away ready to sleep the months through. At that moment I wished I could join them. Why couldn?t I run away and hide until I was ready to face life again? As I trod over the cold granite with the fellow mourners I could see nothing of happiness. Everything hung in dismay as if even nature knew this was a wretched and lonely place. I imagined the gloomy individuals walking this route over the decades. It was a path that had to be travelled but very few were ready or willing to face its destination. ...read more.


The lid of the coffin was lifted and his face tightened as he saw his friend for the last time. Granddad?s face was withered and frail, his lips rose pink and dry. They had dressed him in his favourite suit especially for the occasion. His body lay stiff, fragile and delicate ? but strangely imposing. This was not how I remembered him. Vulnerability and helplessness had overcome him. His intelligent being was hidden - deposed by death. * * * It was a spring morning and the lake glistened in the sun. Not a ripple disturbed the perfect reflections. The smell of freshly painted wood hung in the air as the boat entered the water. Its green body caused it to appear like a lily-pad against the still expanse. I was trembling with excitement: I had never been on a boat before. We lived in the town where buildings filled the landscape. ...read more.


He smiled proud of what I had gained. * * * I wept bitter with regret as the pastor began to talk of grandfather?s life in such a dispassionate way. He knew nothing of the love I felt for him, of the kindness grandfather showed or of the suffering he endured in his last years. I wished I could have stood up and conjured up something which may have done him justice rather than this monatomic drone of weddings, birthdays and jobs. This was not all that my grandfather was. He was more than this. The room silenced as the pastor took to his seat. The roof of the coffin was replaced and the congregation bowed their heads remembering the man in their own way. I saw, not the cold lifeless face that had been laid before me this morning but the bright and warm-hearted glow from that fishing day. I saw him in his heaven with doves fluttering above a crystal ocean full of the most beautiful creatures. Amy SandisonWord count - 1,017[Type text] ...read more.

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