Sick to SunriseThe discovery of sunrise in the shadows of the dark conclave was a miracle and an inspiring reason to continue living. The priest, Father Wily, was ill; he found it difficult to function in day to day degrees of service, nevertheless he found faith and strength in the promise of each dawn and every twilight-tide passage.
Rays of sunshine shone through the dust moted atmosphere of the ancient cathedral. Tempered and penitent he prayed near the alter of the saint, just a tiny fragment of bone lay within the alter but it was enough to manifest a miracle. Father Wily prayed and the burnished surface glowed in a mosaic of tempest dawn and stained glass light. The crucifix held the power of a healing divinity, Father Wily touched it and began to shiver in convulsive force. Falling to the granite floor his back arched and he screamed. Images of fire and the skies full of acrid smoke from an enormous conflagration filled his consciousness. He gasped then went limp. The vision faded into an endless sea of saffron gold, the fire gone in an instant. He found peace in that image; the warmth of an angel in embrace overwhelmed him and he saw wheat fields in bloom. Near the horizon lay an azure sky, eternal and in rainbow plumes of mist.
Awakening he tested his frailty, and discovered that he was no longer ill. The evidence of his experience was clutched ion the palm of his hand. He sat up and stared at the sprig of wheat in his palm. Inhaling, he breathed in the promise of a new beginning and a destiny inscribed in flame and Fight.