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AuthorHouse, Apr 1, 2003 - Fiction - 136 pages
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I have not written all my life, although I glanced anxiously at the amusement pages. Announcing it with a triumphing voice, I remember having seen at my house, through the fence's bars, four Angel missionaries. From the inside of my house my father gave a murmur of profound satisfaction. There was one that constituted a cohesion element, a thread that maintained me tied to my progenitor, anxious necessity of a na´ve and edifying book of the old clergyman. It corresponded to my waiting, always trusting and rewarding. There were no mixed words. The have shown me they could exist.

The archpriest's strange case is not unknown. The list of my unnecessary relatives has not been missing. They form a part of my most careful habits, opening an abyss under our feet. However, it was a highly conservative play, ill-fated influence of modernism, site of the great way, mirror of my portrait, lovely star, worshipped sovereign who is to change one day.

When my father discovered the angels, a violent quarrel exploded between us. Our life continued without change. The angels continued uniting us for years. My father shared his time assisted by my brothers. I was looking for a job worthy of my abilities. The angels did not demand of me to perform any unreasonable activities.

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About the author (2003)

Ray Holmes is a retired working cowboy, living in Wyoming.

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