The raging wind below the eclipse

When she died, we had a funeral.  The wind raged.  Clouds covered the sky, but the light prevailed.  No rain, no storm.  I ask her why she makes the wind blow so strong.  In response, the clouds part above me and I look into the sun.  A disk, perhaps half the sun’s diameter blots it out, dead center.  Far too small to be the moon, it passes swiftly, leaving the sun’s disc to shine in full glory once more.  I think they’ve come to reclaim their dead.  What a strange dream.

Leave a Reply