We Are the Witnesses
A few nights ago I hardly slept. Lightning flashed every few seconds. Rain pelted the dusty ground and then filled all the dry places and then overflowed out of the flowerbeds and sloshed against the curbs in the low spots of our small town. Thunder rattled the seventy-five year old bones of our cozy house, and despite the fact that I was lying comfortably next to a husband who was holding vigil, watching over us, I couldn’t rest.







