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Don Yarber Don Yarber
Recommendations: 42

He's Here


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She had a friend.

I had to get this one in.  Call it what you may, but I call it SPIRIT.


      Someone was yelling very loudly.  I could hear the voice but I could not tell what it was they were yelling.  I got out of bed and went to the living room and looked out the front door.  I couldn’t see anyone but I could hear the yelling.
       “He’s here!” they yelled.
       I looked intently at the road, then the driveway.  I could see no one.  Again I heard the voice.
       “He’s here!”
       It echoed across the heavens.  It seemed to grow louder, as if it had started away across the valley and followed the contour of the land as it approached.  It sounded like thunder, but thunder just rolled and rumbled.  This sound was distinct:
       “He’s here!”
       I could see all across the eastern horizon, a light, like a band of silver from the horizon, stretching into the early morning blue sky.
       “He’s here!” I heard constant echo reverberating through the air, pulsating on my eardrums and ricocheting through my head.
       The light on the eastern horizon was just a band when I saw it first, like a brilliant white line across the top of a television set, stretching from frame to frame.  In comparison, it appeared to be an inch or so of the total sky.  Then it started to stretch upwards, from side to side across the entire horizon, and upwards it stretched.  It grew from one inch to two, then three, and then it was a fourth of the way from horizon to directly overhead.  Then it stopped momentarily and I heard again,
       “He’s here!”
       The sky exploded.  Brilliant white light enveloped the entire visible spectrum of the skies.  It erupted with such a flash that dry leaves on trees caught fire.  They didn’t smoke or smolder, they just erupted as if each leaf had disintegrated upon itself, molecule against molecule and atom against atom, collapsing with a puff of light so bright that it resembled a camera flash, instantly arriving and instantly departing.
       I was aware of the voice, rumbling, echoing, and creating waves of unexplainable vibrations throughout my entire body.      
       “He’s here!”
       I glanced at my watch and saw that it was just 6:40 and as I looked up I saw that my neighbor had started to drive a herd of cattle down the road to a different pasture.  The cows all stopped in their tracks.  One had its tail held high and plops of excrement were dropping to the gravel.  The excrement plopped without a sound and spread into cinnamon roll proportions.
       Then the cows all dropped to their knees.  The neighbor’s dog, an Australian Shepherd, also dropped to its stomach and held its head high.
       My neighbor, a young man with a pretty wife and two teen-aged sons, stood transfixed, looking at the cattle.  Then he and his family dropped to their knees.
       “He’s here!” I heard again, but this time it was my neighbor and his family who were yelling.
       I tried to call out to him and ask him who was here, but my voice hung in my throat like a bubble.  Nothing would come out.  I tried again, forcing air from my diaphragm up through my esophagus and past my vocal chords, straining, urging my voice to ask the question.
       “Who’s here?”
       A deep purple cloud appeared near the horizon, a dark contrast to the brilliance of the sky.  It was moving, stretching, then retracting in various places.  It grew slowly at first then faster, transforming itself as it expanded and contracted.  I thought that it resembled a lamb.  I remembered times when I was a child and played the cloud game, asking my brother to look at a cloud and tell me what he saw.  He was always better at the game than I.  He had vision that surpassed normal.
       I wondered, momentarily, if he would have seen a lamb in the sky as I had.  But now the lamb was gone.  The cloud continued to grow and to morph into a different shape.  The second shape that appeared to my transfixed stare was that of a star.  In the center of the cloud star was a pinhole of light.  The light was like that of a bright torch penetrating a pitch-black night.  It was brighter than the overall brightness of the sky, like shining a flashlight at a mirror.  
       The star’s edges started to move outward like the 3-D flower box of a computer’s screen saver.  From a star it went to a round ball, from a ball it went to a square.  The square’s corners expanded and permeated until it was a shape that I recognized immediately.  A cross.
       The purple cloud moved again.  It formed a swath of cloth across the corners of the cross.  Then it fell, like the closing of a curtain in a theater, until it revealed a form on the cross.  The form was of a man.  The picture seemed to grow, like zooming in on a tiny frame with a high-powered camera lens.  
       I could see the form of the man clearly.  He was a bearded man with long flowing hair.  His head was tilted to one side and his eyes were open.  His skin was the color of olives that are half ripe.  
       The man’s arms were extended across the upper beam of the cross.  His hands had huge wooden spikes driven through them.  Blood, as red as roses, dripped from this hands.
       He had a deep gash in his side.  The blood from that wound was trickling down his legs and dripping to the ground.  I heard him speak.
       “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
       Suddenly my voice was clear.  The air that I had trapped in my lungs erupted through my vocal chords with a yell that I knew was coming:


       “He’s here!”


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