Tui xin một cái topic nhé....

Tui xin một cái topic nhé....

HEY!
by Lynelle Dawson

I remember hearing them throughout my childhood.
"Hey," my step-dad would say out of the blue.
"Hey what?" my mom would automatically reply.
I had noticed nothing more was generally said, but then I was young
and didn't pay too much attention to the "old fogies."
Years passed by uneventfully, I was now in my twenties and still I
would hear their apparently meaningless conversation.
"Hey."
"Hey what?"
For over 25 years I heard this exchange, never knowing what it meant.
Quite truthfully, I never knew it was supposed to be anything other than a
greeting of some odd sort. I didn't hear it frequently, only occasionally,
therefore I didn't really spend a lot of time dwelling on the custom
either.
Around the ripe old age of 35, which was quite a bit older than one of
the "old fogies" of my childhood, and barely a decade younger than the
other, I learned what the expressions were meant to convey.
Saying, "Hey," meant, "I love you."
Replying, "Hey what?" meant, "I love you too."
For 27 years now, this has been their secret way of expressing the
depth of their love for one another without anyone being the wiser.
Hey!

-- Lynelle Dawson <themesndreams @ aol.com>

-------​

THE VALENTINE REWARD
by James "PoppyK" Kisner

The classroom was quite empty; all the children had gone home,
My fourth grade room was quiet, as I sat there all alone.

That day in class, I told the children what they were to do,
Make a Valentine for someone, who is close to you.

Someone who you look up to and someone you admire,
Someone who is helping you become what you desire.

Then I told the children, print a poem that is your own,
Then leave them on my desk to read, before you all go home.

Tomorrow, you can take them home to give to those you love,
But first I'd like to read them to see, who you're thinking of.

As I sat and read the poems, the little cards weren't bad,
Some were for grandparents and then some for mom or dad.

Some had standard verses, "Roses red and violets blue,"
While others had cute verses, that the children made up new.

But then I started reading one and tears filled up my eyes,
I never had expected this; it caught me by surprise.

"I love my mom and dad, she wrote, but you are special too,
That is why I want to make this Valentine for you.

I heard my mom once say, you are a blessing in disguise,
The way you love to teach and help to open children's eyes.

So you will know and understand, 'cause next year I'll be gone,
You've help me to be who I am; you are a special one."

I closed the little card from her and I just sat and cried,
This precious fourth grade girl had done more than she realized.

A teacher doesn't earn a lot, there's much they can't afford,
But all the money in the world can't match this great reward.

To know you make a difference when you teach a little child,
And know you have influenced them does make it all worthwhile.

I know that all who teach will never earn themselves great wealth,
Their riches come from knowing one has given of one's self.

To know we make a difference, having helped a child soar,
To know we had a part will be our "Valentine reward."

-- James "PoppyK" Kisner <PoppyK1 @ aol.com>


Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

LITTLE TOMBOY
by Jackie Griffith
My little white poodle, Angel, had gone over the Rainbow Bridge and I
missed her terribly.
I had a wonderful German Sherpherd mix named Dakota, but at close to
100 pounds he was not exactly a lap dog. Going to the shelter is a
traumatic experience for me because I want to bring them all home, but I
made the trip, and with remarkable restraint, I came home with only two
more dogs -- Lass is a Sheltie mix and was about 18 months old and Rascal
is a Schnauzer/Poodle mix, and was about 6 months old. Rascal's hair was
matted very badly.
Wanting Rascal to look her best, I took her to the Doggie Beauty Shop
and she came home looking like an altogether different little dog.
Before her makeover, she looked like a miniature sheepdog -- hair
growing over her face to the extent that a friend remarked that you
couldn't really tell if she was coming or going.
After her makeover, she looked so precious -- her slim and
graceful-looking body with her first Teddy Bear cut and blue bows in her
ears.
However, you had to overlook the scowl she had on her face. She did
not take kindly to the indignity of a haircut.
All the way home, I continued to tell her how pretty she was. But as
she walked (stalked) into the house, still scowling, Lassie, Dakota, and
even little Patches, the cat, came over to sniff this new skinny, perfumey
member of our household.
Rascal turned and snarled angrily every time they got near her, which
was not at all like her. You could almost hear her saying "Get away from
me!" Fortunately, her foul mood didn't last long, and other than standing
on her head and twisting in an interesting way periodically in an attempt
to get rid of the bows, she got along fine. When I saw how the bows
bothered her, I took them out.
It was early spring, very chilly, and since she no longer had her
coat, I pulled out one of Angel's sweaters to put on her when she went
outside. I could tell she didn't want it on, but thought she'd appreciate
it once she got outside. Angel always did. She was back at the door
within five minutes at the most, and with no sweater.
I wondered briefly if she was Houdini reincarnated. It had been a
tight fit. How did she get that thing off? I found it out in the yard,
full of holes -- huge holes! I began to scold Rascal for ripping it to
shreds, and Lass hung her head and looked very guilty, so I knew Rascal had
some help getting out of it. I dropped the scolding quickly when I saw
their reaction. They are both so tenderhearted, and want so badly to
please me. It tends to put things into perspective for me very quickly.
How important is a sweater anyway? Not nearly as important as their
feelings.
Rascal is not like Angel, and that is absolutely OK. Angel was a
little lady. Rascal reminds me of a tomboy -- like I was. Neither one of
the dogs that I brought home that day will every replace my little Angel,
but they have made their own places deep in my heart.
At times someone will say that they wonder if the animals realize how
lucky they are. That's a nice thing for them to say for sure, and I
appreciate their comment, but I honestly consider myself the lucky one. As
all animal lovers understand, they have each enriched my life in ways
impossible to fully explain.
Oh, and Rascal no longer has to endure the beauty shop haircuts.
Without a doubt, they do a much better job than I do, but clippers won't
work on her mats which magically reappear 30 minutes after being removed.
So, I taught myself to scissor-cut her hair.
Although she no longer looks like the svelt beauty I brought home that
day, she is a much happier little "tomboy".
-- Jackie Griffith <ggriffj @ cs.com>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

Cảm ơn bác nói chung tui đọc chỉ hiểu một phần ..Trình độ còi mà ...Bác thích đặt tên nó thế nào thì đặt hổng vấn đề ..Cái này tui cũng lấy trên mạng cả thui ..Hì ...

*** ​

TEARS OF JOY
by Bob Shaw
As a general rule, I'm a puppy and dog person, although I'm very fond
of kittens, cats, and most other members of the animal family.
One of our favorites was a little silver poodle named Fluffy.
We received a phone call one weekend telling us that her owner had
passed away, and the family was trying to find a new home for Fluffy. We
drove 150 miles and found her in a small cage in the basement. She was in
pretty rough shape, with only enough food and water *****rvive.
My wife, Ronni, held her in her lap on the trip home, talking to her,
and trying to reassure her that everything would be OK. From that time on,
she belonged to her. The trip home went smoothly, but the next few days
were pretty trying for everyone. Fluffy was so upset, she wouldn't let
Ronni out of her sight.
Slowly but surely, Fluffy became the feisty little critter we remember
so well. She was, from her stubby little tail, to her buck toothed little
grin, Ronni's dog. And she took her position quite seriously. Even
playing, if she thought some of us were hurting Ronni, she'd bite them.
Her first litter came about a year later. Everything went just like
the book said, normal all the way. She started around two in the morning,
and had four puppies. That afternoon, Fluffy brought one of them in to the
living room, and laid it at Ronni's feet, sounding a slight whimper to let
us know there was a problem. It had stopped breathing, and she did the
only thing she could do -- she took it to Ronni, whom she believed could do
anything.
As Ronni picked up the baby, she knew something was wrong. At once,
she started rubbing it, trying to get the circulation going. She pushed on
its little chest, and blew into its tiny face to get it breathing. This
went on for several minutes.
Just when Ronni was ready to give up, I noticed Fluffy perking up.
She'd heard something. Then a few moments later, we heard it too. The
baby made a slight whimpering sound.
It was alive!
After all these years, I still have an image of this moment in my
mind. It's a picture of one mother, trying desperately to save the baby of
another. I can remember thinking they were both keepers.
I've heard that animals aren't aware, or can't really understand
what's going on around them, but I can still see the tear tracks running
down that little dog's face.
For the next several days, she kept bringing the puppy in to be
checked over. Ronni would look at it and assure Fluffy that it was all
right. Then Fluffy would take it back and brood over them like there were
no other puppies in the world.
A few weeks later, we received a phone call from a friend. They'd
heard the story about the baby, and wanted to know if they could adopt it.
Things worked out well. Fluffy liked them, and the puppy was right at
home with them. And for the next nine years, it was a constant companion
and blessing in their lives.
Fluffy had two more litters of puppies. And each litter always had a
puppy that she thought needed a little extra care. Of course, Ronni was
always there to give it.
But, there was the day that she brought something in to be checked
out. As I came in from work, Ronni was just a little visibly shaken. All
I could get out of her was "she brought me a dead mouse.."
Fluffy stayed with us for many years. I have no doubt that she's
waiting, just on the other side, in a place called The Rainbow Bridge.
-- Bob Shaw <Caperabbit @ semo.net>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

BUTTERFLY KISSES
by T. Suzanne Eller
My newlywed husband said the same thing every morning.
"You're beautiful today."
One glance in the mirror revealed that it was far from the truth. A
skinny girl with mashed hair on one side of her head and no makeup smiled
back at me. I could feel my sticky morning breath.
"Liar," I shot back with a grin.
It was my usual response. My mother's first husband was not a kind
man and his verbal and physical abuse forced her and her two children to
find a safe place. He showed up on her doorstep one day with roses. She
let him in and he beat her with those roses and took advantage of her.
Nine months later she gave birth to a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby girl -- me.
The harsh words we heard growing up took root. I had trouble seeing
myself as someone of value. I had been married two years when I surprised
myself. My husband wrapped his arms around me and told me I was beautiful.
"Thank you," I said.
The same thin girl with the mousy brown hair still stared back at me
in the mirror, but somehow the words had finally blossomed in my heart.
A lot of years have passed. My husband has grey in his hair. I'm no
longer skinny. Last week I woke up and my husband's face was inches from
mine.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
I covered my mouth, trying to hide my morning breath. He reached down
and kissed my face.
"What I do every morning," he said.
He leaves in the early hours of the morning while I sleep. I miss our
morning conversations, but I had not realized that he continued to tell me
that he loved me even while I slept. When he left, I rolled over and
hugged my pillow. I envisioned the picture of me lightly snoring with my
mouth open and giggled.
What a man! My husband understands my past. He's been beside me as
I've grown from an unsure young girl to a confident woman, mother, speaker
and author.
But I'm not sure that he understands the part he played in that
transition. The words I heard growing up pierced my soul, yet his words
pierced even deeper.
This Valentine's Day I plan to wake early. I want to tell Richard how
much I love him. He may look in the mirror and see an extra pound or two,
or wish for the day when his hair was dark and curly, but all I'll see is
the man who saw something in me when I couldn't see it myself, and who
leaves butterfly kisses, even after twenty-three years of marriage.
Happy Valentines Day!
-- T. Suzanne Eller <eller @ intellex.com>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

WING AND A PRAYER
by Kay Seefeldt
Since the tender age of eight, I have been an avid birder.
After building my first rickety feeding shelf, I nailed it to a tree
near the kitchen window, and began filling it regularly. A twenty-five
cent allowance wouldn't buy much bird seed, and besides I needed that for
ice cream and candy. I grabbed whatever was handy from mama's kitchen --
rolled oats, cornmeal, and stale bread slices.
Soon I'd tolled up several sparrows and a starling or two. They
didn't care that it looked like a Charlie Brown feeder as the food was
free, and it didn't matter to me that they were, on a scale of one to ten,
lowly "one birds." They were birds and birds were my passion.
My uncle was a big tease to all the kids in the neighborhood. Knowing
of my interest in birds, he'd say, "You know, if you sprinkle fresh salt on
a robin's tail you can catch it." With extreme optimism, and even more
gullibility, I spent many fruitless hours chasing robins through the woods
and fields with a box of "fresh" salt clutched in my hands.
Tiring of the salt routine, I devised an ingenious bird trap. I
propped up a wooden box with a forked stick, and to the stick I tied a
stout string. Then I stationed myself where I could get a bird's eye view
of the device. When an unsuspecting bird chanced inside to feast on the
delectable bread crumbs, I'd pull the string and claim my prize. However,
all the birds in our neighborhood must have been suspect because never once
did I get a bird in the box or in the hand.
A couple years and even more boxes of salt later, I smartened up and
realized that if I could get close enough to a robin to put salt -- fresh
or otherwise -- on its tail, I could, no doubt, do the same thing without
the salt and gave up my dead end career as bird catcher.
Hmmm... Was Uncle Vernal encouraging my interest in birds, or had he
devised an ingenious trick to get me out of his hair? Hanging out in his
lobster buying business located a stone's throw from our house was another
of my passions. Nah, not my uncle!
Over the years I have lived in various places and inevitably have put
out bird feeders. Finally, after moving to Itty Bitty Dirt Farm, where my
husband and I still live, we began, in earnest, turning our expansive yard
into a bird sanctuary.
After installing numerous feeders, I began planting perennials and
trees to provide our feathered visitors with protection from predators and
the elements.
I am still charmed by the lowly sparrows and I'm thrilled with the
antics of the blue jays, nut hatches and chickadees, the iridescence of the
boat tail grackles, the mournful calls of the mourning doves, the exotic
colors of the evening, rose breasted, and pine grosbeaks, the subtle colors
of the cedar wax wings, the assertiveness of the tiny pine siskins, the
soft spoken and easy going red polls, the brilliance of Baltimore orioles,
and the feisty, flashy hummingbirds.
In the early spring, we are fortunate for the annual two week visit of
a vibrant indigo bunting on its northern migration to Canada. A secretive
wood duck has hatched young in the nesting box near our pond. One spring,
we were blessed to have a mother mallard raise her ducklings in our tiny
wetland marsh. Eastern blue birds have nested in several of the birdhouses
built specifically for them. Phoebes, swallows and robins have built nests
in and around our barn. A trio of ravenous ravens regularly visit the
compost pile.
Never, to my knowledge, had we been visited by a cardinal.
While in the kitchen one day and looking out the window at the
activity in the backyard feeders, I said, "Dear Lord, please send us a
cardinal."
My husband jokingly replied, "Boy, are you greedy! Look at all the
wonderful birds we have. What's the matter with you woman? Why aren't you
ever satisfied with what you've got?"
To which I reminded him, "Sometimes the Lord just wants us to ask."
That little prayer wasn't immediately answered, as many prayers are
not, but when a flash of scarlet near a feeder caught my eye, I couldn't
wait to proclaim the good news to my husband.
We had a cardinal at last, and yes, the Lord answers prayers, even
prayers for red wings -- the simple desires of our hearts.
But more importantly, He cares about our faith to believe.
-- Kay Seefeldt <birdnest @ megalink.net>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

PERFECT VALENTINE
by Jaye Lewis
When my husband and I first became friends, we had no idea of any
differences in our ages.
I had inherited great genes, so at the age of 34, I was slim and young
looking. Louie was fun with a great sense of play, and yet, he was very
serious about his path in life, unafraid to take on new challenges.
There was only one time, in the 23 years that we have been together,
that I thought I might back out because of our age difference. I got one
good talking to from a trusted friend.
"Let's see, Jaye," he told me. "He's wonderful! He loves you! He
adores your children. He wants more than anything to spend the rest of his
life making you and the girls happy, but he's younger. That's a great
reason to break up!"
I saw the ludicrousness of my fears, and I never looked back.
We were married in the home of a friend, with three little bridesmaids
breathlessly waiting to call Louie "Daddy." It was greater than any joy I
had ever known. Louie was a natural father. He adopted our daughters
exactly two years after the day we had met. He is faithful and loving, and
the best friend I have ever had.
Yet, through the years, I thought that I had missed out on that
romantic dinner by candle light, Louie dropping to one knee, holding out an
engagement ring, and begging me to marry him. We had started out married
life with a house full of kids, no privacy, and a gratitude that children
have to go to bed early.
Then began my health problems.
Where my body once was slim and strong, it soon became medicated and
plump, in all the wrong places. Where once my cheeks were slim, there was
now a layer of insulation that could make my feet float. I walked and
walked and walked, when I was well, and yet, no amount of exercise could
bring my body back to where it once was. By the time we had been married
nearly fifteen years, one look in the mirror was enough to send my
self-esteem plummeting.
Louie was always loving and exciting, but I wondered if I was. I'd
look at my wedding band, as it got tighter and resized. In my jewelry box
was a diamond that we had never gotten around to setting into a ring. I
mused that surely he could not want me that much anymore.
On Valentine's Day, I slipped a dozen cards into every cubbyhole,
watching as he joyously found and read them. But there was nothing in the
house for me. Of course, I didn't mind. We were going out to dinner, and
that would be romantic.
We arrived at the black tie restaurant together, and I saw the lovely
gift bag with the card sticking out, so I knew I would not be totally
forgotten.
We ordered our drinks, and then the meal, and we watched the sun go
down in brilliant splendor, and Louie handed me my card. It said all the
wonderful things that always make me cry. His eyes were shining. How
handsome he was. Then suddenly he moved, and pushed his chair back.
Swiftly, out of the bag came a small velvet pillow and a small box. I
was stunned to see my husband kneel on the pillow and hold out the little
box. Astonished, I backed my chair up.
"Jaye, I love you!" Louie declared, opening the box to expose a lovely
diamond ring. "I know I don't deserve it, but will you marry me?!"
"Oh my God!" I heard from the waitress behind me. All eyes in the
room turned their attention to this intensely private, shy, wonderful man.
The room exploded with applause, as I sobbed, "YES!"
No one knew that we were an "old" married couple. No one knew or
cared that I was an "older" woman. No one saw anything except our joy and
our love.
And, I will always remember that day as my perfect Valentine!
-- Jaye Lewis <jlewis @ smyth.net>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

where did u get all these stories?

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http://www.heartwarmers.com
​

===========
I HELD HIS HAND
by Betty King
"How sad. How pitiful."
Walking into that sterile building filled with germs, decay and
disease, I held tightly to his hand.
It was 1955 or 56. It's strange that I can't remember exactly. I
hadn't been going out with him long, but he asked me to come along. We
entered not knowing what to expect.
He didn't remember the last time he'd seen her. Actually, he really
didn't even know her that well. How could he not know her? She was his
grandmother.
We took the elevator up and the doors opened. Stepping out, we
silently walked down the corridor hunting for the room number.
Antiseptic smells, mixed with medications, loomed in the hallways.
White clad nurses scurried in and out of rooms as the intercom system
occasionally called out a room number or doctor's name. The squeak of our
shoes could be heard on the glassy waxed floor under our feet. I continued
to cling to his hand. He held it as tightly as he held in his emotions.
There it was -- the number, shoulder high beside the closed door. We
paused. He gently pushed it open. We stepped in the room where death
could be heard, smelled and felt. He dropped my hand and walked to her
side. The bedrails were raised and a sheet covered the tiny, frail,
shrunken woman. She did not know of our presence, but death knew we were
there.
He tenderly touched her, wiping her brow. The look of despair had
long left her face and been captured by his. The mere shell of a worn out
soul, and the last inklings of life, lay before him. I stood back
watching. Compassion had seized him.
His own mother had been alone, enduring the pains of childbirth. His
father left one day -- no explanation was ever given. He had not
reappeared until after his son's birth. He got the divorce he wanted and
left again. On occasions, through the years, he had returned and stopped
by for a quick visit. A time or two he had come to town for his family
reunion, picking up his small son and daughter and taking them along, but
always disappearing again. Years would go by without so much as a word.
They rarely ever knew where he was, or what he was doing.
That day, like all the other days of his life, his dad was absent.
His father was not even there to bring comfort to his own dying mother. So
I watched as he stood in the place of his father. He was gentle and kind
and compassionate. He was still yet a boy -- high school had not yet
released him. He had strength though, and a caring sympathetic heart.
I stepped to his side, my own heart lunging to help. The sound of
death was nearing as it rattled from within her. I had seen death, but it
had never spoken to me. There was no denying its voice. It was calling
out loudly to the angels and it was as near as my own breath. It scared
me. We wanted to help, we should help -- someone should help. The nurses
had even abandoned their patient. None of her family was there to help
with her crossing. Only he was there, her grandson, and I held his hand.
"How sad. How pitiful."
No one should meet his or her demise in a cold lonely room alone.
Where were those who really knew her? Those whose hands she had held,
those who had nursed at her breast, those whose tears she had wiped, those
who she had loved through her life? Her husband passed years before and
today only her grandson had come, and I held his hand.
As we left, his heart was heavy and mine cried as much for him as for
her. I believe I fell in love with him that day.
As we took the elevator down, I felt the loneliness within him. The
same isolation in my own heart sprang forth, and it was then I felt the
merging of our souls.
He buried his grandmother, without his father being there to even
mourn her passing. His dad missed seeing the man that he had become. But
there was someone else that noticed -- and I held his hand.
I married that man and we've been married for 45 years. I now have
Multiple Sclerosis and he holds my hand. Though we were both in our teens
at that time, I knew a compassionate loving man when I saw him.
-- Betty King <baking2 @ charter.net>
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS
by Chris Courtney
Generosity warms the spirit.
The act of giving, no matter how small, opens our hearts and spreads
joy to the giver of the gift as well as the recipient.
Random Acts of Kindness are the perfect springboard to leap into
generosity.
Random Acts of Kindness are good deeds done for strangers who could
use a little blessing. We all have stress in our lives. We all have bad
days. There's nothing like a Random Act of Kindness to pull a person out
of a lousy mood.
In our long ago Chicago days, my wife and I used to make sure we had
extra change with us when we traveled the tollway system. We would pull up
to the booth and give the attendant our toll, plus pay the toll for the car
behind us. The reactions were priceless. Some people sped away, unable to
understand they had been the recipients of a Random Act of Kindness. But
most were appreciative. Some even made the effort to catch up to us and
thank us.
Another target for Random Acts is Kindness is the drive-thru window.
If you go through a fast food joint for breakfast and have an extra four
dollars, pay for the meal of the person behind you. Imagine their surprise
and delight when they pull up to the window to pay for their food, only to
be told, "The guy in front of you already paid for it."
Random Acts of Kindness can be big or small.
If you would rather be more generous than a sandwich or toll booth
change, perhaps you can buy groceries for a needy family. If you can put
the groceries on their front porch without them knowing (and without
getting shot, or bit by a dog), go for it. What's the worst thing that
could happen? If you are unable to buy them food (or uncomfortable doing
it) get them a gift card from the local supermarket. Find somebody who
knows the family in need (maybe their pastor, or a neighbor) and ask them
to please give them the card, but not to tell them the gift is from you.
Random Acts of Kindness are best served from God, not from us.
Be creative with your Random Acts of Kindness. Have fun with them.
Make them a family project. If you think you get a charge from it, wait
until you see how the kids get into it. The possibilities are endless, as
are the opportunities. We just have to train ourselves to be watchful for
the chance to bless.
It can be as simple as a greeting card slipped onto a stranger's car
windshield that says, "You are loved". You could even send flowers to a
hospital patient you've never met. Opportunities to bless surround us
every day. It's up to us to grab hold of those opportunities and turn them
into Random Acts of Kindness.
-- Chris Courtney <cjcourtney @ cfaith.com
Chúng Ta Yêu Nhau Chỉ Mong Thế

STRANGERS IN THE DARK
by Betty King
My husband had been transferred to St. Louis, Missouri, but we were
just not city folks. We often left on Saturday evenings for our hometown
of Mt. Vernon, Illinois.
That weekend was no different. We loaded the kids in our Ford and set
out for "home". We took Route 15 as usual and settled in for the hour and
a half drive.
About thirty minutes into our drive, my husband said, "Look over
there! See that light?"
"You mean that security light? Ohhhhhh, my goodness, it's moving.
Bill, does that look anything like that UFO you said you saw once before?"
I asked inquisitively.
"Just like it," he said.
Was that a little uneasiness I detected in his tone?
Soon the light began following us. We watched as it came closer until
it was directly over our car.
"Look kids, you see that?" I was always excited about life and its
new experiences and I didn't want the kids to miss out on seeing whatever
this was! This was history in the making. This night might go down in the
history books!
"Bill, it's over our car, slow down, I've got to get a good look."
He reluctantly slowed down. He'd seen one of these things before and
he really wasn't that excited about seeing another one. We came to a turn
in the road. It turned with us. I had to get a better look.
I stuck my head out the window. It was not even 200 feet above us, so
low I could see iron legs protruding from its belly.
"Bill! Stop! Pull off the road here and stop. I want to get a
closer look. You see those legs on that thing?"
"I can't stop here," he said with a note of caution in his voice.
Suddenly, this giant sped straight up into the sky with a speed I had
never before or since witnessed.
We were stunned, yet our eyes were searching. It couldn't just
disappear and leave us forever wondering.
"Look! There it is again. Look way up there just below the stars.
There's another one! Bill can you believe this!"
"Look over here, there are more," he said as he pointed up in the sky
on his side of the road,
"Bill there is a whole fleet of them!"
For close to an hour we watched as a convoy of flying objects raced
through the sky. With the speed they possessed we knew they could be
hovering over us again in seconds.
"Are you sure they didn't take you aboard the last time you saw that
UFO? Maybe they are tracking you," I said. "Maybe they've implanted
something in you, you never know." My imagination began to fill my head
with strange ideas.
"No." He was definite with his reply.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere in a lonely field there it was again,
glowing brilliantly.
"Bill, pull off here. I mean it. Pull off! I've got to get a
closer look."
He reluctantly eased off the hard road on to a dirt path that led into
the field.
"Get back in this car!" He ordered as I stepped outside to investigate.
There it was suspended about two hundred feet in the air -- nothing
but a glow of light and a low hum. I stood spellbound. Had they come for
something or someone? This was not an airplane or a helicopter or anything
I had ever seen or heard before.
"I said get back in this car right now!" Bill demanded
"Just a minute, just a minute."
"Betty, get in here right now, and I mean it!"
Just then, it took off with a super-accelerated ascension. Bill
breathed easier as I slid in the seat beside him. I felt a thrill of
excitement, fear of the unknown and a determination to find out what I had
just seen. Yet, we had pretty much traveled that last hour alone on that
stretch of two-lane highway.
We have watched the skies often, yet never have we seen such an event
again, but we will never forget!
-- Betty King <baking2 @ charter.net>
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