As part of our mission
I recollect that my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime when all nature is peculiarly quiet and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes.
Hopes and dreams were dashed that day. It should have been expected, but it still came as a shock. The warning signs had been ignored in favor of the possibility, however remote, that it could actually happen. That possibility had grown from hope to an undeniable belief it must be destiny. That was until it wasn’t and the hopes and dreams came crashing down.
“It was so great to hear from you today and it was such weird timing,” he said. “This is going to sound funny and a little strange, but you were in a dream I had just a couple of days ago. I’d love to get together and tell you about it if you’re up for a cup of coffee,” he continued, laying the trap he’d been planning for years.