My dad was digging with a shovel in the back yard. About three feet deep when he found the small wooden box. No bigger than a shoe box.
I was laying upstairs in bed, watching. I was alseep but I could see plain as day. It was light out - but the middle of night and Dad chuckled as held the box up to me. “I know what this is,” he smiled hopping hurriedly out of the hole. He sat the box down on the ground, grabbed his thermos and a sandwhich - he handed me half and poured some coffee. My dad liked to eat. He was born on a hog farm during the great depression. You’ll never see someone enjoy a sandwhich more. Like he was having a laugh with an old friend, an old friend he was devouring.
So we sat, ate our sandwiches and watched the old wooden box. I don’t know how to explain what happened next but it has something to do with the smell of rain before it rains? You can feel it, ya know? Well me and Dad were sitting there; knowing and feeling when slowly this bright orange music overtook us. Like if the sun broke out from behind a cloud and devoured the cold chill that we thought we was.
The next morning I told my mom about the dream and she dropped a plate.
I guess there was something buried in the backyard after all. I never found out what it was but…
for many nights it sang to me
as I laid in bed
the bright orange swaddlin me
like thunderstorm to its bosom.
