Actually, I had just come back from the well.
Placing the pitcher on the table
I bumped against the edge, spilling water on the floor.

As I bent to wipe it up,
there was a light against the kitchen wall,
as though someone had opened the door to the sun.

Rag in hand,
hair across my face,
I turned to see who was entering,
unannounced, unasked.

All I saw was a light,
white against the timbers.
I heard a voice
I had never heard before.

I heard a greeting
I was elected.
I would bear a son,
who would reign forever.
I stood afraid.

Someone closed the door.
And I dropped the rag.