An Epiphany of Sam Adams

Rounding the corner, the setting sun blazes white on the high tide swallowing the marsh. A silhouette stands at the end of the sad, little holy dock ... long hair blowing in the ocean breeze behind his back, shirtless wearing  baggy shorts and flops, he appears to be Jesus just after surfing.

Beside him is the silhouette of a dog about the same size as Goddess who is pulling me closer to them in excitement, tail wagging and happy.


"Samuel" I yell, letting Goddess' leash go so she won't drag me along.

"Micheal," the dark figure calls with a subdued and laid back voice sprinkled with laughter.

He and Pup Pup make their way to us and we hugged.

"Did you get my texts?" he asks.

"Of course not," I reply. "Cause you never sent me any."

He laughs in agreement.

"What's going on?" I ask and he tells me.

"That's the same stuff that was going on last time I asked you."

"I know," he smils, "but it's different this time."

"Long as you feel good about it," I laugh.

 "I'm turning over lots of Bar Church to Stephen and Joe," he said.

"Uh-huh," I say not believing him for a minute.

"Seriously," he smiles.

"Whatev's!"

"You look good," he says changing the subject and rubbing my belly.

"Now you're just full of shit," I say grabbing Goddess' leash.

"When you going to come play?" he asks.

I shrug. "Whenever God tells you to tell me."

God talks to Sam more than most people.

He and Pup Pup climb in their golf cart while Goddess and I head in the other direction.

"I'll come by soon," he laughs as he drives into the sunset.

"Goddess," I say out loud. "I wonder when Sam's next epiphany will be?"

She stops and pees in the grass.

"Amen," I say in response.