Mother yearned for a home apart from her in-laws--threatened to leave father if her
dream was not fulfilled; cowered under grandmother's scowl for fifteen years. When
I was twelve, we moved to a place in the country, planted rows of waving corn,
harvested juicy elderberries, smiled at one another often. Sun bleached my hair blond,
tanned my skin deep, golden brown. Oh, the song of the nesting robins, the green
fluttering of oak leaves, the sweet smell of the good earth! I did not miss the stern face
of my grandmother.
carrying food to their nest
a long line of ants
The seasons now have cycled many times. I pack my worn duffle bag--folded jeans,
several warm shirts, new underwear, and of course my prescription pills and vitamins--
toss it into the back seat of the many-miled Chevy. I roll down the window to inhale the
crisp evening air. In the descending shadows, as I traverse the highway lined with the
fragrance of pine forest, deer graze, unconcerned with my presence. Ahead, the harvest
moon beckons. I head west, alone, toward the rustling sound of autumn's laughter.