Years ago, I dreamed my granddaddy had been resurrected. There was no fanfare in it. No smoke or mirrors. No trumpets sounding. In the dream, as in the waking world, he’d died, and yet there in the carport behind his rock house, he appeared to my grandma and me on a summery bright day. He took a seat in a folding chair, his ball cap crooked on his head, and gave a little smile. As he did…
2026-03-30
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