Forgetting; Seeing


Its funny how little you can see of home until you leave it. I didn’t know that the sky was gray and heavy with 3D sculpted clouds. I didn’t know that the grass in spring was so tangibly green,  that horses would squeeze drops from it as they chewed. I didn’t know that it was the humidity in summer that made my hair like soggy burlap that never dried on the inside. I didn’t know these things because I didn’t know that there were other options, really. I didn’t know that they marked the place. This was the baseline,  and visiting other places,  the sky was empty,  or the grass was dry, or my hair was oddly smooth. I couldn’t really see it until time and absence killed the baseline and things stopped being measured against home because I didn’t remember what that line was.

Water over the road, leaving my parents' house, Elliottstown, IL

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Kelley says:

    Love this, Rika.

    1. rika9 says:

      Thanks. Written on the phone while waiting to see Still Corners. 🙂

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