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A woman grieving over her sister's passing is comforted by unexpected gusts of wind.
Standing on an overlook while visiting the Blue Ridge Mountains, I took in the vibrant, dramatic colors of fall. The overwhelming beauty made me miss my sister, Gale, more than ever.
She was the artist in the family, and we’d lost her to pancreatic cancer only two months before. Gale would have loved to paint this scene, I thought. Landscapes were her specialty.
Suddenly I had a funny thought: Was my sister still painting in heaven? Lord, please let me know somehow that Gale is up there with you and the angels, painting masterpieces. It made me smile to imagine such a thing.
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Just then a strong wind blew in. The trees swayed back and forth, sending crimson, orange and gold leaves swirling into the air. They spun up into long, skinny columns, kind of like mini tornadoes.
No, I thought, not tornadoes. They look like paintbrushes! They soared higher and higher, a glorious riot of color, until they were out of sight.
My sister was still the artist in our family. And now she was painting the greatest landscape of all.
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