Airington

Paris Wallace lay awake the third night of his returning, disturbing dreams. He had just awakened from a calm. He was the most relaxed he had been in years. His dream had surely come and gone one more time. It was 02:28 when he was awakened from his dream once again. He had no idea the significance of 02:28 AM - three times? Was it biblical? Who knows at this point? It surely meant something… Who knows! He had fallen asleep early the night before, tired from his daily visits to the sick and to the aged, those in the hospital, those in assisted living, those in home care, those in hospice. There were so many people in need of shepherding and so few shepherds. Just as he lay down last night, Paris began to think through his previous two nights haunted with these dreams. He was excited, yes anxious, to get back to sleep. Possibly a new dream would give him some answers. Who needed his help? Where do they need his help? What kind of help? All these questions ran through his mind, over and over. “Paris.” The voice was back, this time different. The voice was a whisper, so silent it was barely there, but it was there. Paris could hear it, rather feel it flushing across his face. The voice was almost like a cool breeze flowing across his face. “Paris”, it whispered again. “Help us, Paris. Come quickly.” Paris was somewhere between awake and dreaming. It was almost like watching this thing happen from a distance. Paris quietly answered the voice this time in a whisper. “Come where? Who are you? Where are you?” This is odd Paris thought to himself, still dreaming. Or was it a dream? - Maybe a vision? Yes, a vision, he was watching it unfold - and the smell. Paris now definitely could smell… wet… dampness. It was like rain or a forest after a rain. There was thick fog; morning fog. He was definitely within a forest, but not a western forest of pine and aspen, but an eastern forest. He could see trees; large, tall, massive trees. Poplar, hickory, maple, oak, beech; these trees were ancient, massive trees, some three or four feet in diameter. It was a beautiful place. Paris was standing on a hillside in a forest covered with thick morning fog. Oh my… He could hear a slight trickle of water running somewhere out in front, a spring maybe. Snap! Paris turned to see a whitetail buck deer that had appeared behind him in the silence. The buck was barely twenty feet behind him. The deer stuck his nose in the air to wind him, then stomped his left front foot hard on the forest floor. The breath steamed off his nostrils. He was a very large antlered animal. Suddenly the buck turned and bounded back where he had come from and the noise quickly died away as he furthered the distance. Paris felt like he was awake watching all this. He turned and moved forward down the game trail slowly and quietly toward the sound of trickling water, drawn by it. Paris heard a noise above him. It was a squirrel, a red squirrel, jumping from branch to branch, knocking the dew from the leaves as he went. There was a noise beside him. It was another red squirrel that had jumped up on the side of a tree trunk. He had a hickory nut in his mouth, staring straight at Paris. Another squirrel inched his way down the side of the same hickory tree and barked, twitching his tail this way and that. Paris laughed to himself as he watched these two little guys. Both quickly scampered up the tree and disappeared. This is so odd, Paris thought to himself. This is… so real. A few steps further, the musty smell of wet moss suddenly became clear. The wet, musty smell of moss was definite. He looked to his right at the bank where an ancient beech with smooth, gray bark was leaning out over the game trail in the thick fog. He could see… moss covered stones beside the tree’s roots, and a cave of some sort in the bank, tree roots half hiding the image. It wasn’t a cave. The stones were man-made cut stones - very old hand cut stones, three feet long and a foot high, covered with moss. The opening was not a cave but what appeared to be a spring house of some sort, in the side of the hill on this steep bank within this ancient forest. The opening was arched at the top and was black with darkness inside. The clear spring water trickled out of it. Paris shivered with the fog and the early morning dampness. He had the urge to look inside. This is some kind of vision he thought. A blue jay suddenly appeared in the yellow leaves of the beech and began to screech at Paris and throw beech nuts down hitting the forest floor. The forest floor was covered with autumn leaves. The trees were full of fall colors; red, orange, brown, and golden yellow. Ahhh… the smell of autumn was thick here in these woods among these massive trees. Paris did not want to wake up… Or was he already awake here in the forest? Paris inched forward, then to his right. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh – whoosh! “Danged grouse,” he thought to himself, his heart racing, “Dang it anyway!” Paris blinked his eyes to focus. His right hand was touching the side of the stone opening now. It was cold and wet. He peered into the opening. He could feel the cool wet moss as he breathed in the damp morning air. He could smell the refreshing, cool, moist air coming from the hillside cavern. “Paris”, the voice whispered again, this time from the spring house entrance. “Where are you? I’ll come to you.” Paris whispered back. Ever so slightly… “Airington…”