The After-Life

We stop at a rest area somewhere west of Ritzville. The girls go to the bathroom, and I take Ginger to the designated Pet Area. It’s starting to cool off, and the light is softening to that golden, early evening color. Behind us, it’s all desert buttes and rolling hills dotted with sage. It’s only been a few hours, but if you drive east from Seattle over the Cascade mountains, it can feel very far away.

I had this thought, admiring my family piddling under a tree, then playing around a picnic table, that maybe I had died and gone to heaven. Or, maybe I’m already in heaven.

I gathered them up, unlocked the car, and decided there’s no need to go to heaven. It’s right here.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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