Who Knocks There?

I say. "Jesus, would you like to have a drink of water and sit for a time on the little wood bench our Father gave me to offer you when you came by? It's inside my dusty little house that I try to keep clean, but the winds have brought only dust. I will wash your feet, you can rest a bit and just maybe, just maybe, the rains will come. Behind you."

On the wooden bench our father made, Jesus says to me, "The dust storm that blew me here is just a storm to get us ready for a beautiful calm. Thanks for the water. Tonight you will have good dreams. Tomorrow? Well it will be different as though I will never have left your company. Water will come. In the meantime watch for other travelers who will be by as they follow in my steps. Pilgrims. Point the road I take now. I never leave a house by the way I came. I am the one who will follow me. And when there are no more behind me, you come and see where I live. It is closer than you think. I smell rain. It smells like my father's aftershave." Jesus smiles.

I hear footsteps leaving. I hear footsteps coming. I smell wet ground. Another pilgrim in need. Jesus strangely sits awaiting to gaze upon the the stranger arriving. I turn away for a moment. Then, as if in, the lick of a flame, He is gone. The smell of ion freshened drops of rain remains, And so this is how He lingers sweetly in the wet breezes. Things are no longer as dusty as they seemed before in my little house, in my cozy tent. I hear a knock. The door. An adventure. Let's see who the wind blows in today.