I gathered myself and walked “my land,” once more, the soil giving tenderly beneath my boots. I listened, spoke out a few words I heard, then bowed my head and blessed back.
I drove out the drive full and free. But, I waited at the gate, I would not leave out first. I waited for her, probably making calls to encourage or in some way organize one of hers. She soon drew up beside me. I glanced through the western glare on her glass. I couldn’t see her behind it. But, I could still feel her fingers entwined in mine as we prayed, smell her lotion on my shirt. I knew how very much there she has always been.
She headed east and I back west, away from every stretch of soil I could ever call home.
I have a few more years here. Mine are not grown or gone, just yet. Bama children cannot imagine better. But, the time will come, soon enough, and my hands will again dig deep in that clay that stains me so…