networds

Formerly Worktown Words

Divine Assignment by Dorinda MacDowell

Dark skies and coarsely shrieking winds both terrify and impede me.
What minutes before was a summer day has descended into a kind of hell.
I know I must get to that car park.
I have to be on time to catch the ferry back home.
 
One minute I’m impelled forwards, my feet out of my control.
The next I am pushed backwards and I’m fighting against the ferocious wind.
And all the time things are crashing down from shop fronts, awnings, signs.
I notice a rickety café chair dance crazily across the street, like a drunk.
 
I am hopeless and powerless, completely vulnerable.
I am praying, hard.
 
Shakily, I get to the car park. I turn the corner to reach it.
As I do so, I am flung onto the ground. It’s cold and hard, gritty.
 
Immediately, I feel two strong hands lift me to my feet.
I am guided to the car.
 
The French man with the strong hands helps me into the car.
I barely have strength to lift my legs to get in.
He lifts my legs in for me.
I lean back, shaken, exhausted.
I close my eyes in sweet relief, for a mere second or two.
When I open them, the French man has gone.
 
Still, the tempest rages.
 
It was at that precise moment that I heard, above the storm, a soothing sound.
 
It was the sound of an angel sighing.

Comments powered by CComment