A quite drunk woman on Sunday saw me in my front yard with a large cup of coffee and she came into the very very small grass area that we call a front yard and told me that she was the Angel of Death.
I was instructed immediately to see her wings and realize the message that she had for me.
At that early word from her--I gestured down to a hand-dug culvert that we have created in the grass for water run-off, that she was about to fall right into it and tumble right to the ground. I writing this now, recall that I thought: "My, just my strange luck, the Angel of Death shows up and I have to warn that it will fall into a ditch."
It was sunny and very bright---I was not hallucinating in any way and it was 10:30 AM so I was most assuredly very awake.
She drunkenly steadied herself, and asked, "Do you see my wings yet?" with a grab to my arm keeping me there.
"What are you worried about ?" she asked persistently.
"...Ah, the winter, the cold---making sure we are all ok in the house with leaky windows and cold..."
She did not expect this answer and retorted, "Nothing else, you don't want anything else...???"
All the time she was talking to me, she would only slightly sway, being now besotted, yet mindful of the drainage canal that had been constructed, she would splash her hands towards me and say, "Poof !...Poof."
I saw a page of the Charlotte Observer blow by in the street in the breeze.
"Poooof !!"
The woman was an odd person, but I have had a colorful life and I am also one to play on the side of caution and take her wish-grantings.
"...And NOW, you SEE my wings??"
"No,not at all, I do not,"I answered her.
She did not expect this answer from me either.
This is a very southern city, and a vast number would have their faith in their throats, and would hope and believe the woman that she was actually the Angel of Death.
Hawks made their screechy noises from afar just a bit, up into the sunny and breezy park, across the road next to my house.
"Poof...poof !"
I sipped almost totally cooled down coffee and really wanted more. The lady clamped down on my arm.
"When you see me next time---you will SEE my wings, and you will know."
"Know what?" I asked her.
"That I am the Angel to come for you and help you. You are a very good man. Because you have not seen my wings, you will live a long long life; a lot longer than you think you will."
"Wow," I gasped a little, "I always sort-of wanted to live to be 143 before I die."
This she had hardly expected from me, like the other surprises she had heard from me.
"You will live a very very long life." she tipped somewhat to a very uncomfortable looking angle.
"Whoosh...POOF !! You will be healed..."
I quickly noted to her that I had an nasty stomach and digestive condition that I wish were gone.
Lots of hand gestures later, I at last was able to wrest myself of her to go inside and make a second and newly hot cup of coffee.
As the Angel of Death left for a NFL football game across town I heard her shout towards my direction,
"When you see me next time and you see my wings, I will help you through it--It will be your time to go."
Two spring-stepped squirrels ran through the front yard, chasing each other attempting to get the last of the pecans that have fallen from the tree.
143 years.
That means I have 92 left to live, and I wonder if the Angel of Death's wings are white--
Or are some other color.
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