I thought I’d prepared well. I knew my material. The topic was something I was extremely excited and passionate about, and I could talk about all day (nature, of course).

Leaves on the Cottonwoods were just beginning to turn from shamrock green to golden yellow when I arrived at the red clay trail.

Death, more specifically, my death, isn’t something I fear. After so many years of living in its shadow, and having more than my fair share of very close calls, death isn’t something I am all that afraid of. I mean, even now, as a healthy, physically active adult, I still think about death and dying daily, but more in a reflective way rather than a fearful or dreadful way. 

Thick fog had settled on the dark, winding mountain road. I was driving cautiously as I could, white-knuckles gripping the steering wheel and my boot barely pressing down on the gas pedal. 

Note: This is more or less a continuation of my Little Blue Feather blog. While I didn’t mention what I was actually dealing with, prayer-wise, in Little Blue Feather, I’ll explain it in greater detail here. Not so much about the discovery of the Blue Jay feather, but the pains in my heart that led me to that moment, the things I asked and talked to God about, and what happened between Dad and I the next day.