Where I'm from, technically, but also technically have never really lived.
It feels good to smell the prairie after a thunderstorm.
Never mind that paralyzing terror of experiencing said thunderstorm at thirty thousand feet.
Not to mention the incredible skies after said storm. All shades of blushing sherbet.
*
It feels so good to see family, to hold an elder's hand, to hear voices as familiar to me as breath.
To cackle with laughter over a remembered story.
To walk the same cracked sidewalks, remembering the spring and scratch of buffalo grass underfoot.*
I try to stay within the moments, not fearing the future, not dreading the coming absence. We have each other, and we have the place. That much we'll always have.
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