Yesterday I posted my first piece in answer to a writing challenge (I Went South). This is the second, although I cheated a bit - I never actually made it to the snowy forest. I hope you enjoy it.
I wake thinking that he's there in the room with me. I heard his voice, I know I did, but of course, he isn't there. Still, he calls to me silently, insistently, and he knows that I'll answer his call once again. It would be impossible for me not to.
My car limped along until yesterday. It made it's valiant last stand somewhere in the middle of Ohio. I know it made it that far because the sameness of the flat landscape lulled me into a false sense of security. I didn't hear the last gasps of the engine until it was too late, and then I had to abandon my traveling companion on the side of the road, and continue on foot until the white-haired woman with the kind heart took pity on me, and drove me to the next exit that held a hotel.
Ah, well. I'll get there. Riding, running, walking, it doesn't really matter. I'll still get there.
A quick shower and then I shoulder my pack, and leave the shelter of the hotel room. The sun at this higher lattitude is kinder, more forgiving than that I am used to. It's warmth is welcome here. I know it will be even kinder the further north I go.
Again, his voice says my name within my thoughts, within my memories. I could convince myself he's not really calling me, I suppose, but I know he does. He always has.
The pavement of the road is warm beneath the thin soles of my shoes. They weren't really made for the serious walking I have ahead of me. I climb the ramp back up to the interstate, and the hope that I may not really have to walk that far creeps into my mind before I chase it away with reality: I am at least 400 miles from home, and no sure way to get there but the way my ancestors used to traverse this land.
Not even a dog travois in sight. The thought brings a smile. I can amuse myself so easily.
His voice floats by on the early spring breeze, reminding me to get down to business, and come home. I adjust the pack on my shoulder so that it is more comfortable, place a hopeful non-threatening smile on my face, and stick out my thumb.
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Amanda Gulledge
Gianna-FL
SnippytheGrammarDog
Kerry Lauerman
Amy A
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Comments
Really enjoyed this
That being said, I really enjoyed this piece. I even think I'd enjoy and pass on to others a work of yours.
Here's my question: Is it an actual person calling, or is it home? People are always claiming land, but I think sometimes the land claims us. There are times I swear that the plains and the Black Hills are calling me back. It is a sinking and lonely feeling, an almost tangible pull.
Just wondering. Great piece.
BTW...dog travois? you're really looking far back. Those sucked. Use a horse.
As to your question, I think it is both, but the balance probably tips more in favor of the land. I have that feeling, too.
This is extraordinary, C.
Owl - I didn't see that in my own writing until you mentioned it. Thanks for pointing that out to me.
Abs - I love you more than my feathers.
This line--full, so full. I need to read it often.