What I See

I have been told that we cannot see things that only a microscope can see, but I do not believe that to be true. For years I have seen what I can only explain to be as air. Not the waves like you see when it is hot or cool. I actually see what I can only describe as a sort of ameba. These fill my view and move in every direction. If I blow into the air they scatter and that breath has none for a split second. Otherwise it is completely full. I mean not a even a minute space exists. I have asked my husband many times if he can see it and he has said yes before, but to my dismay he has only said that to appease me when I have persisted. I no longer ask. I asked my chem teacher without telling too much and he said he has no idea and it would be impossible to see these microorganisms the way I explain, but said that the way I described it is what it probably would look like. FYI, I am a fairly intelligent woman of an age that hasn't imagined things in quite some time. I am wondering if there is anyone out there who has seen what I am describing.

I have another story. This one may be more interesting to the psychic realm. When I was a girl I lived by a large area of land in a prestigious area that had not yet been developed. I was very much a tom boy, so to say, I would play by myself almost every day, well me and my pony. My mom used to use a cow bell to call me home for dinner. I was always told not to play past a small creek that ran between our field and the rest of the land so that I could hear her call, but after school I went as far as I wanted. I would follow the old rocky road that was almost covered in weeds for, I would say, maybe half a mile. There was a small grey home there. Inside was a wood floor, a stove that had a can of homemade soup on it. To my left was what looked to be a dining table hand made with a wood burning stove within. In the first area when you walk in was a staircase not visible until you turn a corner that led up the second floor which was a loft room that was as big as the house. The bathroom was an outhouse and I never used it. When I would go there, I would run in go straight upstairs to my friend. He was an older black man with a white rough full beard. He was always in the same place, a rocking chair. I never greeted him anywhere else in the house and I don't really recall ever speaking to him. All I know is that this kind old man would rock back and forth in that chair and read to me as I sat Indian style on the floor in front of him. This was, like I said almost an every day or when I could occurrence. I don't remember ever going back across the bridge home. But I was always back by the time that dinner bell rang. I did tell my mom once, mind you, once, that I was going there. She really never heard me. As I got older I sort of forgot and did not return unless me and my friends would go to have a saionce (spelling on that). I did finally tell a nearby older neighbor that we knew and asked if that man lived there when I was little. She said no, but the man who did live there many years ago was a black man who was the caretaker of the farmers' land and that when he grew old, for reasons unknown, dug a hole under the dining area floor, climbed down inside, covered himself with the wooden floor and laid there until he died. I do know for a fact that there was a hole in that floor and loose floorboards. During one of our saionces (sp) my friend and I witnessed old newspapers blowing when there was no wind. We ran from the house. My brother and his friends collected original comic book writings from the walls of the upstairs. I also remember going once and swear that chair began rocking as soon as I topped the stairs. I never went back. Since then, the land has been developed and the old home torn down. I will always swear on almost anything that this is a true story and I will never forget it! By the way that man, or ghost or spirit, really liked me and I believe gave me the time I needed. For whatever reasons. Thanks.