It has found a home on my porch and I sit and rock as the storm brewing brings with it a wind that whips the brown fabric of my skirt around me.
I hear my Pa - It's a clabbering up to rain.
I hear my Ma, arguing about some way the cow's tail is pointed. No rain, she'd say.
I watch. It's a precious moment of peace I have learned to take advantage of. I am alone. A moment to rest and remember.
What else would they say?
It'll pass over.
Better bring the wash in.
Tell the youngins' to come inside.
It'll pass.
To my left it is dark. The sky threatens to tear open and wash away all that is old and leave only the fresh scent of clean earth behind.
Straight ahead the blue is a clear as Ma's eyes the last time I said goodbye. Crystal clearness on a face lined with time and fringed with softness the color of cotton. She'd seen Jesus the night before, we knew this time would not pass over.
I wonder now - how did I say goodbye?
I rock and watch and close my eyes and try but my childhood escapes my mind as quickly as the clouds dance by and the wind finds another place to gentle.
It passes over. The rain. And with it the lonely aches missed and the sweet memories of another life I lived. A place I can return to in my mind in moments like this when the wind catches my skirt and brings with it a different space and time.
And in the quiet my God reminds me, You shall see them again.
I rise and give the rocker a little push. It's a good one.
It's a dandy, they'd say.
