Driving home --

I tune in classical out of habit these days - the seek button on my fly intrepid is tres busted. During the overnight hours, reliable ol' WITF tunes in eight (count 'em) hours of back to back Bach, Brahams and the like.

I don't pretend to understand classical enough to appreciate it, but on quiet nights such as this the music flows through the car cabin like a wave washing over my thoughts. The moonlight sky melts into a landscape of melodies as I drift quietly on the highway. Tonight, in addition to the normal euphoria I've just described, I felt as though there was a presence in the seat next to me watching as I drove.

As the notes rebounded off the windshield, my passenger looked calmly into the sky. I looked over to see who was with me, only to watch their shape change with the music. The one that was at first my grandma slowly became my cousin, who in turn transformed into a teacher from grade school.

An eerie blue light surrounded them, providing an obi wan kenobi like glow in the car. The only shape that remained constant was that of the ghosts' hand - the palm closed loosely around my own, patting me softly on the knuckles until I turned to keep my eyes on the road.

I guess you could attribute the whole deal to the music or the time of night (or more likely a combination of the two), but for a moment, I felt I was in the company of angels.