Tell the story again, but slower, I whispered back. I’m writing it down.
Sitting in the tall grass, legs stretched out in front of me, I hear your whispers. My back is to you, but I’m not surprised when you begin to talk. I’ve heard you before. If I am quiet and listen, I hear you again. You begin.
The men were young and cocky, confidant and strong. They had to be, conquering and clearing this new land that was before them. The women were smart and sure, standing beside, encouraging their men.
The kids were running, jumping and hiding. Women were cooking, continually talking. One stood out on the wrap around porch, calling them in. Men arrived from the fields. Rich aromas were escaping from the house. Children were reluctant to leave their play.
Standing proud and tall, I’ve protected them. I’ve watched them come, I’ve watched them grow, I’ve watched them go. Their children having children, more children having their children. I love them all.
I love you too, I say, letting tears stay on my face. I gather my papers, taking longer than needed. I slowly turn around, placing my hand on my childhood friend. I had played in his shelter since I could remember. I told him all my secrets as I worked inside his walls. He watched me become a young woman, get married, have babies. It’s time, my friend.
The stalls are empty. The animals are gone. The grass is tall. They are taking me down. Somewhere I hear Three Kings Orient….Snow will begin to fall, as will I.
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