From "Heaven's Not a Place" by Cheryl Clayborn

No impatient dog yet barked, no anxious breeze yet disturbed a single leaf on a single branch, and not even the soft coo of a mourning dove penetrated the air. Moments from now, all the outdoor morning noises would begin their daily symphony.  But right now, right here in this small suspended space between night and day—this was a special time.  A time to relish the last few fragments of delicious, deep sleep. A time to hold on to dreams…

He was a boy again.  He was tall and lean, with muscles like sinew.  And he felt so strong!  He was running…running through the backyard at home, jumping the fence.  Awesome!  He must have cleared it by at least a foot. He kept running, through the neighbor’s yard and out into the street.  Man, he wasn’t even beginning to get tired!  He was already on the other side of the street.  Then he saw the reason for his running...