All the Places
All the places I have been led me here — a house in the woods at the very end of a long dead end.
And what do I see when I look out the window?
Trees and more trees. Some I put there which are special: fruit trees, flowering trees, sheltering wind breaks of pine and oak. Memorial trees planted in honor of dead loved ones — human and pets.
I also see a large pond, now covered with ice and snow, but in warmer months I see ducks and geese, herons and frogs, jumping fish and waterbugs, and pretty little box turtles sunning on the shore.
It's quiet here, the place I landed. Sometimes the neighbors' donkeys bray, the cows moo. Sometimes the coyotes howl and scream; often dogs bark, or geese honk heading north or south. But I hear no city noises. If I hear a car or truck I usually know who is driving. Once in a while I hear the fire siren from the town below. But mostly it's quiet.
The wind whistles through the trees, but that isn't noise. It's music.
Red Dress
I used to wear a red dress that got me in trouble. I was 16. It was short and tight with a pleated skirt and a white lace collar. I wore it with white tights and square-toed patent leather Mary Janes. I would wear this to dances and dance the jerk, the bump, the twist, the mashed potato. But it was the slow dances that really got me into trouble. Dancing too close, too slow. Dancing to the edge of the gym and slipping out the door into the night, running to trouble.
Now I wear black mostly — a tiny splash of red on a scarf or a shirt. I don't even own any dresses anymore, much less a red one. I run the other way now.
