Gavin Candish Photography

From Gavin's pen and Nicole's camera

Dreamweaver

Cast a spell of freedom
Upon my dreaming soul.

With wings of hope,
Come lift me higher.

I yearn to soar
Among my dreams.

I am ready for
The Dreamweaver.

Dreams are the foundations of the pathway to your destiny.
Follow your dreams and walk that path and fear not, the destination.

From Gavin's Pen and Debbie Wivell's Camera.

The Meeting Place.

Sonny and Samuel had been neighbors for near on fifty years. They were good friends. Each had been born on the farms they lived on.
For more than thirty years, they had met at the fence that separated their properties every morning to chat and drink their coffee.
They talked about numerous topics, such as the weather, politics, the cost of living, and most importantly, fishing and hunting. Both men loved to fish and hunt.
About six years ago, Samuel failed to turn in at the fence one morning. Sonny finished his coffee and went back to his house. He got in his truck and drove to Samuel's house.
Sam's wife, Mary, greeted him at the door with tears flowing.
"Sam passed away during the night Sonny, he's gone."
"Oh no. I am so sorry, Mary." He replied as he hugged her.
Three weeks after the funeral, Samuel's ashes were buried at the fence where he and Sonny had spent so much time. Sonny still went to the fence every morning for coffee and to chat with his friend.
Two years ago, Sonny also passed away and in accordance with his last wishes, his ashes were buried at the fence.
I'd like to think the two men are still meeting at the fence for coffee and to chat about the topics they had always talked about, and if you listen to the wind you might just hear them.
That old meeting place will live on into eternity.

A piece of history uncovered during the renovation of this store. I hope they salvage this sign. The store is on 7th St near where it changes to Monroe Rd in Charlotte, NC.

From Gavin's Pen

I Saw The Smile.

He said, "I'll saddle up
this horse of mine.
I'll ride that trail
up to the cabin
just below the bushline."

I said, "I'll join you
on this ride.
When we get there
we can fish for supper
after we climb this mountainside."

"I guess we can
go ahead and do that,"
he said as he swung
into the saddle
and adjusted his hat.

We rode slowly on up.
That trail seemed so long.
All along the way
he could be heard humming
some old country song.

We arrived early
in the afternoon,
fed and watered the horses
then we caught a couple of trout.
Dinner tonight... under the moon.

He said, "Build us a fire
while I clean these fish."
I said, "I sure will
and I'll put some spuds
in the embers if you wish."

That evening we ate
a mighty fine meal.
As the coffee brewed
we watched the moon rise.
Can't explain how it made me feel.

An elk let out a bugle
from across the lake.
An owl asked his question
from the woods near by.
We were lucky to partake.

He said, "I believe I'll
Move in up here
and stay all summer long.
It's where I want to be.
It's a place I hold dear."

I replied, "you might as well,
you love this place."
He said," That, I do my boy."
In the glow of the fire,
I saw the smile on his face.

Original poetry by Gavin Candish.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera

Yesterday

Give me a sun soaked front porch on a mountain cabin and let my mind wander. Back to a simpler time. A time where time itself didn't matter. A place where we found ourselves immersed in family values that did matter.
Often, we find ourselves wishing we could go back to that time. I know I do.
I dream of "yesterday." That place where we, as children can remember how Grandma's cooking was always the best. Fried chicken, roasted potatoes and corn on the cob. Cornbread still warm from the oven and a watermelon, still warm from the sun and sweeter than candy, for dessert. As the sun went down, hot chocolate drinks and fresh made cookies would be how she filled our lives with love.
All the while, Grandpa would sit in his rocker whittling up some toys while filling our minds with the wonder of his stories. He would have us all mesmerized as he recalled how a ten pound trout fought against his line. How after a twenty minute tussle, he would land that evening's supper.
He would tell us of how he met Grandma and fell head over heels in love with her.
He would have us hanging on every word as he recalled "yesterday."
Sometimes, he would start playing his harmonica and we would all sing along. On some of those long summer evenings, we would fall asleep on that porch, full bellies, happy minds and surrounded with a love that never wavered. A love that we would carry for the rest of our lives.
Yep, give me "yesterday" all over again. I would cherish every moment and hang on every memory.
I just hope Grandma and Grandpa are smiling down on us as they Heavenly hold hands, like they always did.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera

Patience

My Dad and I spent countless hours fishing. Rivers, lakes and ocean coastlines, both sandy and rocky coastlines. I loved every single moment. He taught me so much as we fished.
One day, early on, I asked him about what it takes to be a good fisherman.
He replied with one word.
"Patience."
After a pause, he went on.
"Son, some days you can bait your hook and cast your line and, bang. You catch one. No sooner than you bait your hook and cast, bang, another. Those days are a blessing, son. Now, on other days you can do the same but you could write a novel between bites."
So true were those words but my love of fishing has never wavered.
I learned to be patient during those quieter days of fishing. I would listen to the waves, the seagulls, the wind in the trees and my Dad as he cussed when a fish got off.
"Patience, Dad." I'd say, smiling.
"Yeah, I know." He'd reply.
I don't think I could have written a novel between bites but poetry and short stories, yes and there were many composed on those slow days at a beach or a stunning stretch of wilderness riverbank. Sometimes, I would draw... not that well. I would sketch birds, fish, fishing flies, the trees and whatever else took my eye. It was a good way to tame my patience..
Dad would say, "Son, you're getting pretty good at the patience thing. Better than me."
I'd reply, "I learned it from you."
He'd smile and his patience would kick in.
Yeah, we spent a lot of treasured time fishing together. Oh, how I wish we still could. Dad took the high trail three years ago. I miss him a lot. Fortunately, I have my wonderful memories of our times together and he gave me my greatest virtue... "patience."

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Back Country.

On a quiet back country road in New Zealand, I come across an old woolshed. It is small, maybe just two stands. A stand refers to the number of shearing machines in the shed.
In days gone by, the sheep would have been clipped using hand shears. Back breaking work. Those who chose to work at this were some of the hardest workers you would ever find. You wouldn't hear any complaints though.
At least once and oftentimes, twice a year, the sheep would be mustered and brought to the woolshed. They would be shorn and checked out for health issues and then returned to the pasture.
The muster is usually performed from horseback. Each shepherd would have a couple of dogs to help with the muster. I would often watch the process. I was envious of these men, riding their horses and getting to see some of the most stunning countryside you could ever lay your eyes on.
Yep... the work was hard and the days, long and demanding. When the work was done, a few beers would be had. Stories shared beside a fire from musters gone by would fill your mind with wonder. Food would be prepared and cooked and sometimes, a dance held to celebrate the the end of the work.
The New Zealand woolsheds are icon upon the landscape just as the American barns. The work carried out within can never be automated. Sure, improvements can and will be made like shearing machines taking over from the hand clippers, but the work will always require the human factor.
The woolshed will forever be a favorite of mine. They are a big part of life in New Zealand and our heritage.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the "In my mind's eye," series.

Jacob's Homecoming.

A sequel to, "Jacob's Letter."

I pulled up near a small cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains, that had been long ago abandoned. As I stood there looking at it, I can't help thinking that it has a story to tell.
In my mind's eye, I hear whistling. I look around and see a young man walking toward the cabin. The door of the cabin bursts open.
"Oh, Jacob, you're home!" Says a woman as she runs toward the young man.
"Yes, Momma... forever." He replied.
Thank God son. I have prayed for this every day since I got your letter. I was thinking the worst. I thought you might never come home." She said as she stood back to look at Jacob.
"It was horrible Momma. I ain't never picking up a gun again... never ever." He replied.
"That, I can understand son."
They hugged again.
"Where did you get that fishing pole son?" She asked.
Well, I have been working my way home for three weeks now Momma. I left Appomattox Courthouse and just started a walking. I had to do some work for folks along the way so I could eat. At one of those places, a kindly old gent give it to me so I could catch fish and eat them on the way home." He answered.
"Oh, Jacob. I am just so glad you're home. Come on, let's go in and I will fix some food for you. You must be tired and hungry." She said.
I sure am hungry and I could sleep for a week."
I smiled as they walked into the cabin.
"Welcome home Jacob." I said as I walked back to my car.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Jacob's Letter.

Dear Momma
I woke up this morning and the birds, they was a singing. The fields here at Gettysburg, they was quiet as the Blue Ridge Mountains when the sun goes down. For a moment, I thought I was home Momma... home with you.
I wasn't though. I was here on these bloody fields. Yesterday there was a full blown war going on. It was so terrible. Men was dying all around and the smoke was thick as the mist in the mountain valleys. The wounded was a crying and calling for help. It was more than any man should have to see.
I sobbed myself to sleep and hoped it was all a dream. No Momma, it were no dream. It was a nightmare.
I pray to God I am still alive when you get this letter Momma. I hope he hears my prayers.
With God's grace I hope to be home soon so I can feel the Blue Ridge under my feet and the sun warm on my face, the birds a singing like they is right now in this town of Gettysburg.
This war is such an uncivilized war Momma. Cruel and very uncivilized indeed.
I must go now Momma. Give my love to Dad and my sisters please.

Love, Jacob.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Welcome Home.

Sunday morning front porch high upon a ridge of blue... oh, the peace that surrounds me.
A thousand voices singing, "How great thou art," rising from the mist filled valleys below as congregations give thanks.
A place that from my front porch, I see where God has used his paint brush on every leaf, on every blade of grass and upon every bloom of the wild flowers.
A place where folks are welcoming and quick with a smile, a place where the wild animals roam, where rivers run deep and cool and trout fill the pools at the foot of cascading waterfalls.
Where birds come to sing from high in the trees and the skies while upon the wing.
Where from a Sunday evening front porch, I whisper to God, "how great thou art," and where Mother Nature whispers "welcome home," back to me.

From Gavin's Pen and Lisa Raphael's Camera.

Old Henry's Typewriter.

As I wandered down a quiet village road, I came to an old barn with a lean to attached. Unassuming and beginning to show signs of age, I took my camera and began taking some photos. I noticed broken windows and missing weather boards. Some would say it was an eyesore but not me... not at all. While time had taken a toll on the old building, I saw only the beauty that time alone had turned the old lean to into a work of art.
As I stood there taking photos, an elderly gent walked up to me.
"Good day to you." He said.
"Hello." I replied.
"I see you like Old Henry's shack." He said.
"I do. It is intriguing." I answered.
"Old Henry, he was a writer. He would spend hours here writing stories and some times, poetry too. On those long summer evenings if you walked past, you would often hear the click clack of his old Typewriter."
"Amazing." I replied.
The old man laughed and said, "You know, Old Henry was not very fast at that typing caper. No sir. He was very slow. Once he told me that his slow typing gave him time to savor each word. Let me tell you, there was a lot of savoring."
"Well, sometimes a story or a poem is a savored work of art." I replied.
"You must be a writer too." He suggested.
"Well, I try." I answered.
"Nice, well I must be off. Goodbye." Said the old man.
"Bye."
I took some more photos and I swear, as I walked away, I heard the click clack of Old Henry's Typewriter.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera
Yes Indeed, Son.

As silent as a sentinel, the old gate post stood there. Had done so for sixty years. After all those years of swinging the gate, the time had come where it was no longer needed. The fence had become overgrown by the hedge and the gate was long gone. The workmanship that had created this working wonder was a dying craft. Hand hewn and the hardware, forged in fire, you'd never see anything better.
"Whatcha gonna do with that old gate post Paw Paw?" Asked Ryan.
"Well my boy, we are gonna cut it off at ground level. We'll take it over to the workshop, hose it off and clean it up some." He replied.
"Why Paw Paw?"
"Because it is a fine piece of wood. You'd be hard pressed to find a nicer piece." Said Paw Paw.
"Then what?"
The old man smiled and patted Ryan on his head. "We are gonna turn that hinge pin downside up. We're gonna take it in the house and we're gonna mount it just inside the front door."
"Really... why Paw Paw?"
"Well, son. It's where I'm gonna hang my hat."
"Oh, that's a good idea Paw Paw. Can we put another hook about half way up?"
"Sure we can Ryan... but why?"
"Because that's where I wanna hang my hat?" He replied.
Paw Paw smiled. "Well son, I guess we need to take a ride to town and buy you that hat."
Ryan smiled wide and hugged his Paw Paw. "Can I get one just like yours?"
"Yes indeed son." Said the old man as he patted the boy's head.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

That Old Girl.

"I literally drove the wheels off that old girl," came a voice from beside me.
I turned to see an older gent leaning on a fence post with an old straw hat in his hand.
"Hello there, so that beauty is yours?" I asked.
"Yes, I got it brand new back in 1965. I decided I wanted to see America so, I quit my job and hit the road. I was into photography and was pretty clever with my hands so, I figured I could scratch out a living on the road."
"And did you?" I asked.
"I sure did. Folks seemed to take a liking to my photos so much that I had to set up an office with three people working on developing photos and sending them off to customers. Me, I just cruised the back roads taking pictures of whatever caught my eye. You wouldn't believe it, but I was making a lot of money from my photos. It allowed me to live an amazing lifestyle." He replied.
"You must have seen some amazing things over the years." I said.
"Indeed, even took that old bus to Woodstock."
"You did? Wow, now that is cool."i replied.
"Yeah, I picked up several hitchhikers on the way. When we got to Woodstock, twelve people got off that old girl. Didn't know who they were, didn't care except for one girl. Now she was about the prettiest girl I had ever seen. We got married about a month after Woodstock and stayed that way til she died about ten years ago. My heart is still aching." He replied as he watched his feet shuffling beneath him. "I parked that old girl over there about two weeks after she died. Just wasn't the same driving it after she passed." He added.
"I'm sorry for your loss, mister." I replied.
"Thanks, well I best wander." He said.
"Thanks for your time." I replied.
"You're welcome." He said over his shoulder as he wandered off.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.

Pardon Me Ma'am.

As I stood at the footbridge looking at the house, a lady walked up from behind.
"You should have heard them play." She said.
"Pardon me Ma'am." I replied.
"My mother and father, this is their home, my home. My parents were filled with music. Daddy played the fiddle and Momma, the piano." She said.
"Really, tell me more." I replied.
"Well, when I was a little girl, in the evenings, Momma would start playing the piano and Daddy would pick up his fiddle and join in. Momma had a voice that would fill the valley. It was a wonder to hear. During the summer on Saturday evenings, folks would come from all over the valley and gather on the lawn across the creek. They would listen and join in with and sing along. I loved those evenings. They were magical."
"I can imagine." I replied.
"You know... people said the raccoons would fill the trees around the house just so they could hear Momma sing. I don't know if that's true or not, but the cows would all gather at that fence behind us to listen. They would be lulled to sleep by Mommas singing." She said.
"Sounds amazing." I replied.
"Oh mister, you have no idea. They have been gone now for many years. Momma passed in 62 and Daddy, a year later, I miss those times but sometimes on a long summer evening and you listen carefully, you might hear them playing on a breeze as it drifts through the valley." She said as she turned to walk away.
"Thank you for sharing your story." I replied.
"You're welcome mister." She said as she wandered off down the gravel road.
Later that evening as I got in my car to leave the valley, a warm breeze sprung up and in the rustling leaves I could hear distant music. It may have been from a house nearby but i would like to think otherwise. I listened for a few minutes and then drove off. On my car radio, "High Cotton" and thought... perfect.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the, "In my minds eye," series.

Peace In The Valley.
At the end of a beautiful valley, I walk upon an old house bathed in sunshine. I stop to soak up the beauty that surrounds me. Birdsong fills the woods that wrap themselves around the house. The smell of fresh cut hay comes drifting in on the back of an almost nothing breeze.
"I found Heaven." I thought to myself.
In my minds eye, I drift back 100 years.
The door opens and a man walks out onto the porch and sits in a chair. He has a pipe in one hand and a cup in the other. He lights his pipe and soon the smell of pipe to***co and coffee drift over to me.
A woman in a long dress joins the man and sits beside him. "That was a fine dinner, Elizabeth." Said the man as he sipped his coffee. "Thank you William."
"Tomorrow, we will be bringing in George's hay and ours, the day after. They are fine crops, Elizabeth. God has blessed us." Said William. "He has indeed, love."
"I saw some turkeys on the edge of the corn field today. I believe I will take my gun with me in the morning, see if I can get one."
"Oh, that would be wonderful. It would make a fine dinner for Sunday." Elizabeth replied. "It would indeed my love." Said William with a smile on his face.
"Elizabeth, would you sing a song for me?"
She smiled coyly and began humming. The voice of an Angel filled the air with "There will be peace in the valley." Even the birds stopped singing so they could listen.
Maybe I had stumbled upon Heaven. It sure sounded like I had.
I came back to the here and now and began walking back down the trail. I felt blessed to have had that interlude. It had raised my spirits to an even higher plane. In my minds eye, I could still hear that Heavenly voice letting me know that there would indeed, be peace in the valley tonight.

From Gavin Pen And Camera.
From the, "In my minds eye," series

The Old Inn.

On a day that held the first hint of Spring, I pulled up in front of the old inn. No longer in use, I pondered the sadness that surrounded the building. There was something this old beauty held within. A story trying hard to be told. I turned around to take in the beauty of the view from the inn. Across the road, a beautiful lake, beyond a stunning mountain range loomed.
In my minds eye, I hear an old diesel engine chugging up around the bend. An old bus, about a mid sixties model pulled up in front of the old inn. The doors opened and a man in a pinstriped suit steps down from the bus and offers his hand to a beautiful raven haired woman in a long red dress and a hat that seemed to highlight her beauty.
Next, an older lady was helped down the steps. Two young men followed. The driver disembarked and removed several suitcases from the luggage compartment. The passengers each took their luggage an walked into the inn. I watched as the bus left. As I come back to the here and now, I turned to take some photos of the lake. Behind me, I hear a voice.
"That is a view I never get sick of?" Said the woman in the red dress. "It sure is ma'am. Did you just come in on the bus?" I asked.
"Yes I did." She replied.
"But I thought I imagined the bus... the people...?"
"Maybe you did." She replied as she put a hand on my shoulder and smiled.
"I'm not sure I understand this." I said.
"Well, the old inn was mine and then there was an accident. The bus crashed and everyone was killed."
"That was the bus that was just here, right?" I asked.
"Yes."
"And you were on the bus when it crashed?"
"Yes, we all were." She replied.
"Oh, my. What a shame that such a beauty as you was lost in the crash."
"Well, I may have been lost but you seem to have found me." She said as she smiled.
"Yes, it seems I have."
"I have to go now, was nice meeting you." She said.
"And I enjoyed meeting you too."
I watched as she walked to the door of the inn and just disappeared. As I drove away, I heard a giggle. I looked in the rear view mirror and there she was, sitting in the back seat, smiling at me. "Drive on Sir."

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the "In My Mind's Eye," series.

Kings Mountain. Lest we forget.

On a midsummer morning I pull into the Kings Mountain National Military Park, the site of the battle for Kings Mountain. A Revolutionary War battle.
The battle took place at around 3pm on October 7th, 1780. It was fought between the Loyalists led by Col. Patrick Ferguson and an army of Patriots led by Col. William Campbell.
Ferguson's army of 1100 men had set up camp on a ridge as the Patriots approached. They numbered 1000 strong. At 3pm the Patriots attacked the Loyalists and within an hour, the battle was over. Once Ferguson was shot and killed the Loyalists surrendered. This was a crushing victory for the Patriots and set things in motion where Cornwallis, the English Commander, would eventually surrender at Yorktown, VA.
As I walk the trail that loops round the battlefield, I feel total serenity. It is so peaceful and the birdsong fills my ears.
In my mind's eye, I drift back to the day of the battle. I am a silent witness. Muskets and rifles are firing all around me, men are yelling and the birdsong has stopped. Gun smoke fills the air and is wafting around the wooded mountain side. I see a young man propped against a boulder and there is another kneeling beside him.
"It's bad ain't it."
"No Billy, you're gonna be just fine." Seth replied.
" It's gettin' hard to breathe Seth."
" Billy, I ain't gonna leave you."
"Thanks Seth, I did not think I woulda been going home today."
" What do you mean Billy?"
"Home to our Lord Seth, iffin he'll have me."
"He surely will Billy, fact is, I see him on the ridge behind you and he's got his arms open for you, Billy."
Billy smiled and slumped into the Lord's arms.
My mind comes back to the here and now. The scene played out in my mind's eye felt so real. I realize that the birds are singing again and continue the trail through this sacred place. I know I'll be back.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the, "In my mind's eye," series.

She Danced.

On the last day of summer he took a walk along the beach. It was early and no one was about. As he walked, he thought he saw a figure up ahead but then it dissapeared. After a mile or so he sat on a dune for a rest. It was warm and as yet, no sea breeze.
A few minutes later a figure appeared on the beach about a hundred yards away.
"Where did she come from?" He wondered.
As he watched, she skipped along in the water and giggled. She was less than a hundred feet from him now. She smiled at him and began to dance.
In his mind's eye, he walked down the dune and took her in his arms and she danced. She danced right into his heart. She smiled coyly as she pressed her self against him and whispered, "Hold me close."
He spun her round and around as she giggled. The ocean was their music.
After a while, she ran into the dunes and dissapeared.
He came back to the here and now with his heart pounding.
"Where do you go to my lovely?" He asked.
Early the next morning he went back to the spot where she had appeared. There, in the sand, a message. He smiled as he looked to the dunes. From behind him, he heard a voice.
"Dance with me... I mean really dance with me."
This time when he took her in his arms, he could feel her heart beating against his, he felt her lips on his, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist.
They danced into the ocean and into each other's hearts.
After a swim they laid on the beach. "Will you dance with me every day and hold me close to you heart?" She asked.
"Yes, yes, yes." He answered as the sun set.
"I will be yours forever." She said as she nestled into his arms.
Gently, he placed a daisy in her hair.

From Gavin's Pen and Charles Aegan's Camera.
From the "In my mind's eye," series.

1898

I stopped my horse across the river from the old mill that stood proud at the water's edge. Snow was still falling and getting heavier by the hour. A man stepped onto the deck.
"Hello there. Come across at the ford up yonder. There's a lean too behind the mill for your horse and there's water and oats for him. Help yourself and come on in." Said the man.
"Thankyou, will do." I replied.
Fifteen minutes later I was sitting beside a warm stove.
"Mighty kind of you sir, inviting me in outta that storm."
"You're welcome, names Wayne and my wife there is Annie."
"I am Gavin, something smells really good." I said.
"Theres soup and a stew is going to be ready soon." Said Annie.
I looked at the calendar on the wall beside the stove. It read 1898.
"Wow, what a beautiful old calendar." I said.
"Well, not really, that is the calendar for this year." Said Annie.
"So... this is the year of 1898?" I asked.
"Sure enough." Said Wayne.
"Wow, that was some ride." I replied. "How far have you come?" Asked Annie.
"Well, to be honest... I'm not quite sure.
"Never mind. Here, have a bowl of soup while the stew is cooking." She replied.
We ate and talked and drank a pot of the best coffee ever. Wayne led me upstairs and showed me to a room.
"You should be comfortable here tonight Gavin. Way too cold to be out there on the trail." He said.
"I appreciate the hospitality." I replied.
"Sleep well." He said as he left the room.
In the morning I woke and went downstairs. There was no one to be seen, cobwebs everywhere and the stove was cold. I looked at the calendar, 1898.
"Thanks again for the hospitality." I said as I rode off under a midmorning sun.
"You're welcome." I heard over my shoulder.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
From the "in my mind's eye" series

When She Comes

Driving down a mountain trail, I come across this old beauty. In my mind's eye, I flash back fifty years or so. Back to a time when moonshine runner rules these backroads.
As I snapped off some photos an old song came to mind. I changed it a bit but y'all know this one.
Have some fun with it. The song will never be the same.😜

She'll be coming round the mountain
When she comes
When she comes
She'll be coming round the mountain
When she comes.
She'll be driving 300 horses
And knockin' 80 mile an hour
When she comes
When she comes.
She'll be carrying 30 gallons
Of Grandpa's mountain shine
When she comes
When she comes
We'll all go out to meet her in pajamas
And grab our jar of liquor
When she comes
When she comes.
Yeah, she'll be coming round the mountain
When she comes
When she comes
She'll be knockin' 80 mile an hour
And driving 300 horses
When she comes
When she comes
Driving 300 horses
When she comes.

From Gavin's Pen and Camera.
When A Cardinal Passes By.

"Daddy, why did Momma have to go and be with God?" The little boy asked.
Dumbfounded by the question, the man thought for a minute and replied.
"Sam, Mommy got really sick and the pain became too much to bear. God took her to Heaven so the pain would go away."
"I miss her Daddy."
"I know Sam. So do I, but you know what?"
"What Daddy?"
"When you see a cardinal fly past, that is her checking on you to see if you are okay."
"Really. I see them all the time Daddy. Almost every day." Said Sam.
"Me too buddy. Tell you what son, when you go to bed tonight, pray really hard and when you go to sleep, she will come to you in your dreams."
"Oh, Daddy, that would be so nice."
"I know son."
That night as Sam lay sleeping, his Momma came and read his favorite story, kissed him goodnight and tucked him in then sat with him as he lay sleeping.
The next morning Sam walked into the kitchen with a big smile on his face.
"She came Daddy. She really came and read me a story and kissed me nite nite. It was so nice Daddy."
"She came and saw me too Sam. She stroked my hair as I lay sleeping and when I awoke, I could smell her perfume."
"Me too Daddy. I hope she comes again."
"She will son. When you are sad and lonely, she will come and hold you as you sleep."
The boy smiled and hugged his dad.
"Come on Sam, let's go fishing."