Today a melancholy mood came over me as I watched dark rain clouds gather. I felt for

the first time in a long time homesick for the sound of familiar voices long gone. Scenes from my childhood and conversations flash through my memory. I could hear my grandma’s voice saying plain as if she were in the room with me,”dark storm clouds coming is not a good sign.” She was good at prediction goods or bad times through her dreams or the weather patterns. I’ve inherited her sensitive nature. Some members of the family tell me I’m wee bit strange as I use my sixth sense that is often very accurate just like grandma.

Grandma sang to herself as she went about her daily work routine. Her favorite old hymn was I’Il Fly Away. I could tell what mood she was in by the power of her voice as she belted out the words. I often wondered if she really would like to fly away with all the work she had to do.

I followed her around like her shadow as she worked in her garden. In the spring she carefully planted and in the fall she hoed out old bean vines, tomato plants clearing all that she harvested through the summer. I knew to stay out of her way as she prepared the soil for next year’s plantings. I remember the sound of the hoe striking the soil seemed to beat out a rhythm as she went about her work.

Grandma’s favorite place to rest after working in the garden was the front porch. I felt closest to her at these rest times. We sat quit listening to the sounds of the neighborhood as she “gathered her thoughts, were grandmas words. In the distance we heard the traffic on old 25E. I wondered where the cars and people were going. I asked grandma if she ever wanted to live any other place than the lane.

I was thinking she never seemed to want to go anywhere, she seemed satisfied to work and stay close to home. She seemed to study my face for a few minutes and replied, “I’ve never wanted to be any other place but here, and I do not have the desire that others seems to have to live in a big city where there are tall buildings and fancy eating places.” She said she is happy to live in a small town where everyone knew each other and all she ever wanted was a good life to know her family was safe and could care for each other.

As I continue to watch the dark storm clouds drift around in circles I remember my grandma and her wise words. I long to once more sit on the front porch with her, to sip sweet tea as she garters her thoughts.

My thought for today, in the days I write about children were never bored we knew how to entertain ourselves If we are deprived we sure never knew it.

Where love is no house is too small!

Mildred Higgins

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