That night when I left my


at the foot of the altar             

of the old Mission,

I felt

the pain and

the weariness

and the


of futility.

Upon leaving

the mission grounds

I heard





and felt the


of rain beginning to


In the shadows

the rain formed

his shape

and the breeze

formed his voice.

“I am Junípero Serra.”

said the


“Do not


Be on guard


we see each other


Now listen

for the sound

of my


About jedwardnajera

I am an artist and a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I published several novels. Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, Dust of the Moon are among them, available through Amazon Books. I have spent over thirty five years in a classroom. I am now retired from that profession. My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium. He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years. Now I am continuing the tradition by posting my own stories and misadventures. I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
This entry was posted in Family History, Poetic interlude and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to 1911

  1. Your father had a unique mind, and how wonderful to have his writings, to look into his soul and to know that you are part of him.

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