Southern Juniper

Dust rose up into to air and left behind a floating trail in the wind like a wedding veil as I drove down Highway 61. I was headed to my parents home in Mississippi to house sit while they ventured a getaway to some place Sunny and unfamiliar. It’d been over a year since I’d been home, but I never had a disposition to the long drive deeper into the South. I was ready to break away from the city, from the noise, and it’s smoke.

Ready to meet me was the colorful sky, without holding its breath, without any buildings to block its view. Ready to run with me were the cotton fields, parallel to my waist and never becoming weary of me. The fields could go on trial for days and still have more to give. Oh, and the stars. Besides being able to actually see them at night, it felt like they were always ready to listen without judgement, not afraid of all my thinking.

I was ready to be surrounded by all of these elements, and crossing State line gave me the temptation to believe that I was crossing over into another dimension, one were I could breath a little bit easier.

Somewhere in between stopping for fuel and entering into town, I had almost forgotten how easy it was to just speak to a stranger and not feel that subtle urge to ignore them as I would in the city. As the yellow streaked gravel ushered me into town, I let out a deep exhale in my car as I watched some of the townsmen engage in their lively affairs. Some of them passing by in cars, some walking, and some bicycling across the street.

In the country, life is lived at a slower pace, but the “B” in Busy is always capitalized. I managed to return some friendly waves at just about every four way stop before I made it to the house, and I did so without question as my Southern duty.

Arriving to the house, I immediately got reacquainted with my quiet surroundings in the cove. The neighbors were tucked away in their homes with warm lights peering through their windows. After pulling into the driveway, I took some time to linger outside before grabbing my luggage and going inside. I was impressed and yet assuming at how well my dad had the yard at such great upkeep. I scanned my eyes across the grass and into the field ahead where the river lied. The juniper tree had died. It’s berries had withered away, and the leaves had turned brown. The barn owl that loved to nestle at top of the tree was no longer there. All but it’s drooping and disheveled nest had remained. The constant rising and flooding of the river had weakened the once strong tree trunk, leaving only a bitter smell where it was once sweet, and a vacant home for the owl.

I sat on the stretched out porch for a while in Mama’s rocking chair, lighting her bug repellent candle sitting on the table next to me. She always kept matches on the porch. I listened to the insects belting out their songs and calls to the soon coming night. I peered up at the moon as I rocked, and I let the loneliness sink in. I gave myself permission to feel without the rush of somewhere to go or something to do. I felt the smooth wind brush up against my face and simultaneously rustle into the surrounding trees. It almost sounded like they gave me a round applause, a welcome home if you will, until the wind took it’s rest.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the warm air. As I exhaled, I arose from Mama’s chair. Going back to my car to gather my luggage, the stars then began to appear. I grinned because I could finally see them and not the city smoke, nor it’s blinding lights. I realized that I was at peace with time, with space, and with myself.