Turning north at West Memphis, I breathe a bit easier. The air seems lighter, the skies clearer. An ordinary trip driven countless times now fortifies me, replenishes memories, helps me remember.
A crop duster tilts his yellow wing in my direction, then turns and dips before misting fertilizer across winter wheat. Like crocus pushing through the cold, he is a first sign of spring. To dazed travelers and long-haul truckers, the flat landscape appears dead and dull, yet I know life churns beneath wet fields.
In the distance, a recent thunderstorm hovers over the Mississippi River. Clouds hang heavy and purple.
talya
Musical Pairing:
Beautifully written, Talya, and yeah…There’s no place like home…
Hey, wait a minute. Were you in my neighborhood? I live in Memphis.
http://joycelansky.blogspot.com/2013/03/passover-quiz.html
Yes Joyce! I am from Northeast Arkansas:))
Beautiful! And I agree, there is no place like home.