The Day The Pines Fell

I imagined myself back home.  With my sisters.  With my brothers.  With no home to go to.

I made an offer a door down from Auntie. And waited.

It’s not exactly the hill.  With a well.  With a hedge.  With the bones of our buried.

It might could still work.  I whisper.  So’s not to jinx it.

I slept and was wakened.  The sound of a big engine.  Dad’s boom truck.  I looked for Georgie, but couldn’t see him through the dark.  The sounds were farther than the back yard, and south, toward Stark’s, toward the backhill.  I understood.  Red Ross on the road grader.  I intuitively knew that Roy was with him.  Without seeing them.  Without seeing anything through the pitch black night of the Lucerne sky.

My eyes opened to the sound of a big engine.  Not a boom truck.  Not a maintainer.  Not under a black Lucerne sky.

The timber men were here.  The Georgia pines began to fall.

The call came.

It’s ours.

Two doors down from Auntie.

I slept that night on a bed full of feathers.  I awoke on the hill.  In the chill of December:  Mom warming soup on the oil burner, Dad dragging in the Christmas tree, and Georgie not yet walking.  Mary carried me to Grandma’s house in a frozen moment.  I stood with Gram between her two mirrors.  I  saw her go on forever.

My eyes opened to a light unexpected in this mis-shapen Missouri, through a window forever shadowed by a thick wall of Georgia pine.  I stepped outside.  I walked the red ground toward the empty land where the stand had been.

I looked up and saw the bright northern sky for the first time since I’ve been here.

Advertisements

6 Responses to “The Day The Pines Fell”

  1. You always take me there with your words…thank you cousin!

  2. I don’t know what to say! You are absolutely brilliant! What a wonderful, fluid voice you speak with. When are you coming home dear cousin?

  3. Where is home? Are dreams and memories another reality?

    These can be such hard questions.

    My misshapen Missouri is shadowed by tan Atlantic sand, the Smithsonian Institution, and family I have never quite been able to reach, even when we’re in the same room.

  4. anonymouse Says:

    you’ve left me typeless

    later:
    you’ve written some of the finest things I’ve ever read (and you know I’ve read the Enquirer!) 😉 i’m joking (but only in parentheses)

    what, I can’t hear you, I’m writing a letter 🙂 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA love and thank you

  5. Beautiful
    So glad we are finally getting you home again
    You have to talk to me— Dani and I have some BIGGGGG plans and they could include you if you are interested

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: