Red Dirt Roots

take me back to the beginning, when life was so much simpler

when my roots had no idea of where my branches intended to go

but were happy to just enjoy being free to strive

back to that tiny village nestled way down in that uncharted place with the red dirt and the kind people whose roots and branches had no borders and were free to intertwine and grow heavenward

Oh to laze in that beautiful undiscovered place, existing in an everywhere place in my heart

in the flavored soil where I was birthed...in dirt red so vibrantly crimson

blood hued roots delved deep, seeking sustenance in the earth

anchoring the forested natural formation of fruited trees and the people who inhabited the spaces

nutrient rich...the maroon dirt protected and fed the land which once was tended lovingly by caring hands

I remember the coffee buds on the trees outside the front door of my grandmother's house

I remember my grandmother's kitchen - a composite of Wattle and daub - a woven lattice of wooden strips of "wattle" and "daubed" with a sticky material combination of wet soil, clay, sand, and straw.

Her house was made of brick, combined with the wattle and daub, built by my grandfather whom I never met - a fisherman who had died at sea

I remember my grandmother digging in the soil for cassava to make her famous Bammy/flatbread, I so loved it when my mother fried bammy, serving it with fried fish

we had to drive a very long way to enjoy it after my parents moved to the city - I wish we had remained in the red dirt of the countryside

I love the natural quiet of the rural lifestyle, I would have loved to roam the woods, picking and eating fruits at my leisure, sleeping under the trees - spending more time with the only grandparent whom I ever met

But my father was a restless soul, like me - he needed to experience more of the world - it was the artist in his soul

I remember my mother's songs, my aunt's kindness, my siblings many idiosyncratic rumblings

The branches have diverged, taking roads which should not have been taken - and bypassing roads that should have been taken

But my roots still stay anchored in that humble beginning which still feels so right

Most times my branches ache with the longing for the simpler times, now lost to city life and striving for that something which will ever remain out of reach

But they all are a part of the growing pains of this life which we try so hard to conquer and rise as heroes

We may fall to ruin, or rise as shining stars - the victory is in how deep and firm we plant our roots of sincerity - how strong we remain, allowing ourselves to live our best lives...

In the enabling of our branches to strive to great heights of self fulfillment.