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It was a beautiful night, a cool autumn breeze gently blew through the trees sending leaves of all colors falling to the ground. The silvery light of the moon revealed golden hues of orange and yellow, fiery reds and delicate greens. The leaves seemed to float to the ground, each following an unseen pattern.
He remembered that he used to sit out here with Kaila, his youngest sister, admiring the fall foliage. She used to say that the leaves were so graceful that this must be what the angels dancing in heaven looked like. The very last time they had sat together watching the leaves, they had been sitting on the green ocean of grass in front of their house. Kaila ran to the trees and chased the leaves. She looked as though she was dancing some invisible partner, moving to the sound of an unheard melody. When she returned there were leaves in her hair and dirt on her dress. She sat down in front of him, and looked into his eyes and asked, " Will you dance with me, when we're in heaven?" Her small adoring eyes peered into his, though at the moment he felt as if her eyes were piercing straight through into his soul. "When we're with the angels, will you dance?"
"What kind of a curious question is that?" He reached out to remove the leaves tangled in her hair. "You are a mess young lady. You'd best be getting inside and washed up for bed before mother sees you. Do you know what she'll do if she catches you? She'll grab you and tickle you all over, just like this." He proceeded then to do just that, and his sister giggled and squealed with delight.
"Alright now, in you go."
"Yes sir", she replied with a salute and ran into the house, laughing all the way.
It was an innocent enough question, from a tiny girl of 8 who dreamt of angels, fairies, sweet candy and dresses with pretty ribbons. What had scared him was the feeling that washed over him as he tried to think of an answer, the feeling that he'd never get to heaven.
A wetness on his face brought him back to the present. Here he stood, outside an old Irish country house, haunted by 240 year old memories. His next thoughts were to seek shelter, for light Irish rains were notorious for transforming themselves into storms, in less than the blink of an eye. That's when he realized that the moisture that had brought him out of his anguished reverie was not a drop of rain, but a tear.
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