In front of the old house the tree used to stand. Now, it was just the remains. But the remains still stood.
It was just an old tree stump. Oddly placed in front of the house. But when I added my imagination it became a portal to the heavens.
Upon it, I climbed, and stood.
I looked left. I looked right. To my left was the lane leading to the main road a quarter of a mile away. It seemed like a very long road at the time. To my right was a field that led to “the water”. But I couldn’t see the water. I could only see a pathway through the fields.
I stood upon my portal and I sang. Loudly. “When the saints come marching in”.
I looked to my right. I belted out “oh when the saints come marching in”.
My imagination calling upon-and demanding-that the troops of saints come marching in.
I stared down that field.
I sang again. Louder. The sky hung low and grey. The air was soft and cool. Dry. Even though I was outside I felt like was enclosed within the lowered sky and the colors of the world closing down for fall.
I stared down the field. Fully expecting the saints to come marching in. Up to me. In a glorious chorus.
I belted out the first few lines.
Staring down the field. Believing I could summon them.
There was nothing to deter me. I had to have faith. And patience. I believed.
My singing was powerful. It felt good. And loud. If I waited. And if I sang. I would see them. How could they refuse this child who sang. And believed. And beckoned them.
I sang again.
I could do this all day.
Until my brother came out and told me to shut up. Dad was trying to take a nap.
I jumped off of the portal. And it returned to being just a tree stump. On a dark and cool fall day.
I am pretty sure I was just beginning to see halos flashing through from the edges of the fields.
Now we will never know.
This is the very tree that one day long after this picture was taken, turned in to a tree stump, turned in to my portal, and returned to being just a tree stump.