She feels her fear, exhaustion and cold. She pulls the long dark cloak around her thin shoulders.
It is dark, she stumbles. She can hear the man behind chasing her.
She looks down seeing the fires below the cliff she stands on.
It is so dark but she must keep running. She falls again he catches her. Struggling she looks into the huge Roman soldier's eyes, he is enraged cold and without mercy. As he pulls his dagger she screams; he stabs her pushing her off the cliff, she is falling.

April wakes in a sweat, The dream has come again.
The same dream has followed her for years, it leaves her desperate and shaking. My only big sister tells me about her past life. She has always been terrified of knives or sharp objects. She feels she died by a stabbing in her past life.

We stand on her worn broken old patio. The house is very old, also it is run down.
But this space is full of plants and flowers.
Leading down old steps to a small back yard and patch of grass.
She had a pet chicken that strolled around clucking loudly,
The fence was made out of parts from old cars and pieces of wood.
This little oasis was in the middle of a junk yard.

There were kids of different ages and coloring spilling out every where. A couple of older boys sitting on steps pretending not to notice us.

April looked for the butterfly that greeted her each spring.
Each spring (I wonder how old do butterfly's get?) Not important.
The simple belief that souls gone bring messages from other side through butterfly's is enough.

We did not get to visit often because I lived far away.
When we got a few of the ten girl's in the family together, there was a lot of laughter and jokes. We usually had more than one conversation going and could all jump from one conversation to another with ease.

Most of us had a lot of children, she gave birth to eleven.
Most were tall big girls, quite large with ample bosoms.
And to me all are striking; beautiful smart women.

She never learned how to drive a car, which to me was sad.
I loved the ability to jump into a car and just drive.

There is always good food, and something new that must be told.
We lived in poverty, our life is filled with creative ways of making something out of nothing.

The way we were taught the idea that souls could become Butterfly's! Was blasphemy.

We have been taught to do as told and if we could, we would be rewarded with a afterlife serving our appointed husbands with his other wives.

April was a talented beautiful sister. She has always been timid but strong when defending others.
As a young girl she was close to six feet tall with long dark brown hair, she was shy and always attracted attention, I much smaller than her often fought for her.

She started painting rocks, saying when she looked at them that the thing inside draws her. Each is a creation.
Some were animals others castles, there were cars and spiders. Her many grandchildren were fascinated. If you looked in little boys pockets you would find a stone car or spider.
She started taking grand kids rock hunting. Then she started teaching them to paint.
She used nail polish all colors shiny, glittery and plain.

Other times she planned outings in the canyons, sandwiches and the simple beauty of the mountain and stream.

April was big sister, mother to us all.

She was not yet sixty years when she got cancer. So unfair.

She did not whine but when traveling to receive treatment; she took every day as an adventure. She learned all she could about other people while enduring her Chemo treatment. Always she found excitement in new things.
She beat the cancer, it was gone.
But she was allergic to most products externally.
A little later she died of infection, her body was depleted of antibodies.

I think of her and choose to believe in her past. I hope her future lives will be full of beauty and love. Perhaps I will be there.