Just recently, a large plane plummeted from directly above me as I froze and desperately considered in which direction to flee the impending crash. But I had just seconds, and the passenger jet fluttered erratically. As sheer terror for the souls soon to perish took silver medal to self-preservation, I ran blindly from the fateful whining of displaced sky and the sputtering of failed engines. Quickly, though, I became covered in shadow-and then huge wings blotted the sun. I cowered and braced for the unthinkable. But those wings morphed into a ceiling fan, and that rushing air became the sound of the small noisemaker I never sleep without-a battery powered one that I always set on “gentle rain” (The heartbeat option creeps me out.). My jaw unclenched as I gasped for air and realized that, once again, my subconscious mind had awakened and spared me just in time. Spared me the fate of all those passengers by then strewn and mutilated within my gray matter.
Patterson’s Perspectives by Mark Patterson
