The familiar sound of rocks and pebbles ping and thud against the car’s exterior no matter how slowly I try to drive. My acceleration forms a wake of chalky dust behind my borrowed SUV. It’s a route I’ve traced since childhood.
This time though, I’m trying to be present to the smells of manure and dust kicked up in the wind and follow the undulations of terraced cornfields to the east and west. My flight leaves in a few days and on this lonely stretch of country road I have arrived at my roots.
Digging them in deep I anchor myself to the familiar. My branches reach out eagerly, tiny buds waiting patiently to blossom in a new sky.