The Visitation I

The sky was a burst of blue.

The clouds and sun seemed like a dismantled sunny-side-up egg that swam in the ocean up above. I laid on the meadow with my head placed on my mother’s lap as she combed through my hair. My mother was a queen who knew how to straighten a crowd when she was in the room yet she sang the softest lullaby to her child. She was fierce yet gentle; in command but understanding.

It was a perfect day.

My mother’s song dropped and her hand stopped from combing through my hair. I looked at her and I saw how frantic she looked with her eyes that darted throughout the meadow. A strong wind gusted and I could see how the branches of the trees waved to it as if they were giving off a dance before a turmoil. There was silence after it— the calm before the storm. The horses on the carriage neighed loudly and started to stomp against the soil. Their cries were like calls to remind us to leave— there is danger.

“Let’s go, Victoria,” my mother hurri