DREAMS
by P.J. Dunlap-Huerta
Peaceful, but not silent.
Nature’s symphony: chickens clucking across the creek, cattle lowing;
blue jay’s and cardinal’s wings thrashing.
Cicadas provide rhythm as the crows add a bass voice. Tiny chickadees and an oriole steal in
silently to grab a seed from the feeder arms length from me, never stopping
long enough for me to focus the lens on their colorful feathers while a
squirrel scampers stealthily over the pile of logs nearby. Occasionally a humming bird flies up to check
on the strange creature on the porch and flits away silently as it came. I just heard a leaf fall to the ground,
loosened by the gentle breeze blowing. Getting
in touch with my inner country girl.
Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it?
But less than an hour ago, I was in a makeshift outdoor shower--less
than ideal. It brought memories of an
improvised shower in an unfinished basement many years ago. Cold water only; cobwebs to be knocked out of
corners. This one had a rough wooden
floor; that one a bare cement floor.
This one had dollar store plastic hoses and fixtures; that one had
store-bought ones. Getting in touch
with my inner country girl.
Sitting here on the porch of my Hillbilly retreat tears
stream down my face as I remember the young girl who used to dream sitting by
the creek bank with the smell of honeysuckle around her. Dream of an education; dream of life in the
city; dream of nice clothing and cars that hummed instead of rattled; dream of
a house with real hot water in the shower.
Dream of being a city girl.
The irony of life:
Now the city girl dreams of retreats in the country, of the smell of
honeysuckle, revels in the sights of sunrise over the hills and listens to the
concerto of God’s creation.
God has been good to me!
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