I stand in a field of stubble, stretching to the limits of my vision. I turn my head, as my feet are rooted to the earth.

The prairie sky above me hues of sullen grey, amorphous pink, and pale blue. The wind blows through me.

On the horizon comes a black shape, bobbing ever closer. As I watch with fascination I see others. Soon the sky is filled with crows.

I feel tremendous fear, but also relief. The time has arrived, I open my arms wide, beckoning to them. They descend upon me, the air pummelling me with the thunderous sound of beating, black wings.

I feel there beaks tearing away the trauma scars, welts, cuts, bruises of decades. they feast on the flesh of pain, ingesting it bit by bit.

The tears roll down my face as they tear away the façade, the twisted rationalizations, and defaults that I have existed all my life with. I see nothing, just feeling their beaks, and the pain.

As one, they lift, into a lustrous, shining black cloud, their feeding done. I look down expecting to see a skeleton.

What I see is light, the light of love. It was always there, just hidden by the pain. It is like a holy fire. No beginning, no end.