A Season Of Miracles page 1

A Season Of Miracles




I pulled the 4-Runner close to the broken chain-link fence.  Setting the park brake, I opened the door and stepped out into the hazy, early March dusk of Silas, Alabama.

Walking slowly, I reached the opening and stopped at the low outfield fence, now hanging loose and separated from the poles set in the ground.   That fence had once been tight as saplings during another early March.

How are you doing Rafer?  I’ll be running those fields again with you.  One day.

 The years of our lives are not evenly weighted.  Childhood is heaviest; sinking us deep in the space that will be our field of running, falling, and rising again.  Middle age pushes the borders, straining the field’s limits.  Then come the later years, lighter than we had imagined, until the final seasons when we step like sparrows on the Earth.  In the end, we are without weight.

That was you, Rafer.  I thought you and I were the same age.  But you were almost weightless even then, when I saw you for the first time . . .



Chapter 1


I didn’t set out to believe in miracles.  Nobody does.  That’s what makes them miracles.

The events of 1971 would pick me up in a tornado of changes and set me down in an amazing place of grace.  As with Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, it would be a kind of homecoming, except that I would be coming home for the first time.