WHAT IN HELL IS UP WITH HEAVEN?
NO REST FOR THE WICKED…
Christopher David Petersen
Copyright 2011 Christopher David Petersen
It was a normal day, as far as anyone could tell. Dawn had just broken over the distant foothills of ancient Athens and the heat could already be seen radiating up from the desert floor. It wasn’t too hot at this time of the day, but the temperatures were on the move. The essence from the yuccas were now filling the air, attracting a variety of bees on their quest for the early morning pick-up and deliveries, and the sound of songbirds softly echoed in the lush valley just beyond the desert.
On the far side of the lush valley, on the edge of civilization, lay an apple orchard, and through the apple trees, a familiar sight began to take shape. Barely visible at first, then more defined as the sun’s rays illuminated subtle details, the figure of a woman in a white flowing robe appeared in the distance. Clutching a well-worn cane, her movements were slow and deliberate. This was an aging woman, her face indiscernible through her burqa, yet obvious from her posture and gait.