No Place Like Home
It’s so clear even now that I can’t completely believe it was all a dream. The gloss of the flowers, the feeling of snow on my cheeks, the impossible glitter of the colours I can now call ruby and emerald. If only you could make dreams like that happen every night. I did try. I’d try to conjure up other places - places away from the pigs and the chickens and the dust. I’d think about the roads I might skip along, the people I might meet. I’d try to think about my ma and pa. I was always thinking about escape, about being somewhere else. There was only so far you could drag your feet, only so many times you could swing on the tyre. In the sun-bleached summer or coldness of winter there were days when it did feel like it was all in sepia. There was a world outside Kansas I just didn’t think I’d ever get to experience it. I can see the beauty in the emptiness now - the peace in the huge swathes of sameness. The wheat could be ten different shades of gold dependi...
