voices

In my dream last night, I step forward

toward a dark, gray field at dusk.

I eventually realize I am standing before a field of slate, slabs of smooth, upright tablets.

I sense these pieces are going to start talking to me, and they do:  1  8  2  0, then  1  7  6  8.

The numbers continue. I was frightened when I imagined I would hear words, but the numbers, in men's and women's calm voices, comfort me, like a meditation.

A quiet thought between my ears tells me these voices are my ancestors, and they're happy I'm researching their histories, their stories, their lives. I'm standing before their headstones and tombstones. I am not afraid.