A Somber
Reflection
The trip back left me in isolation,
though I felt my grandmother’s constant stare on me; I giving no heed to any of
it. My family roared to all sessions of conversation. Yet I held to my
distance, heard none of it, but stayed in that ‘long-distance world’ I found
myself in. I watched the road alone; counting all the rocks below I could find,
then looking round the fog and mist dripping from the sky above. I saw no
shadows there, nor had darkness completely filled the loom of night. I heard
the soft sounds of African songs playing in perfect harmony out in the vague
distance; somewhere where the night had concealed them from my view.
Even the campfires and whiffs of
trailing house smoke coming from those fireplaces, and that were so normally
seen in every eve in late fall and winter, were now trapped in the heavy fog
round about us. As we rose to the hilltops and the valley below descended from
us, we could hear the light petals of rain falling from the Heavens; and so
making its own light beats on the wagon cover itself. I felt the dropping of
this water fill into my hands over time and I washed my face by it; dipping my
tears with its own stream. My grandmother’s hand played over my shoulder,
though I did not react to it; still keeping to myself as I was.
Time shadows every moment in your
life and it gives you the measure of fate to deal with it. My life was in its
beginning then and those lessons learned would so prepare me for what was to
come. I could not see such a thing, nor could I view beyond my hands, which
held to my face on that long ride home.
But when I turn back now and I see
with a spot of reflection, I knew its reason and purpose. The rain grew most
steady when we arrived to Shelly’s house. Charlie met with us at the entrance,
and he carried about his ragged umbrella and dim lantern as he went. The house
was all aglow, as it always was; full of warmth and persuasion, like a good
tenant to the soul.
The fireplaces were in a roar and
billowing smoke rose above the chimneys as if they were the mighty steam
engines of a thousand ships. Those lights which were dispersed all about sent
the home into a sense of false activity. Yet it seemed to be waiting for us
there to enter.
I moved to help Shelly out and into
the home; that old large oak tree still standing prestigious guard in the front
lawn.
We were home. And to the delight of
my grandmother Shelly, we were quite warm now. The fireplaces were as if we had
never left them; then still popping into a hue and shadowy light as always. It
was not long before I found myself drifting to sleep on that long couch in the
main fireplace hall as I watched the fireflies of a hundred sparks dance in
front of me until they made their way into my dreams.
I was indeed home, at last…
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