4.21.23

She finds herself standing in an open field. A small, country road behind her, a vast space in front of her, filled with corn stalks recently harvested. The remaining short stubs jut up in rows, a sad reminder of their former glory. The soybeans have not yet been taken up, their light brown fronds swaying in the cool October air. They are nearly dry, calling to be removed and allowed to sink back into the earth.

A murder of crows caws loudly above, breaking the stillness. In some way the birds feel like an omen, a reminder that she cannot outrun this place or it’s memories. She no longer wants to run. She longs to rediscover some identity that has been lost- the girl who grew up in this place. She cannot have the good memories without the bad. The beauty and hurt of this place swirls around her.

She remembers something a yoga instructor said about feeling your feet plant into the ground. She pushes the soles of her feet into the soil and closes her eyes. An ache in her chest grows and she outstretches her arms and cranes her neck to face the sky. Maybe if she feels the soft, wet earth under her and the breeze flowing through her finger tips, listen to the branches swaying – she will find that girl again.