The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
Maya Angelou, All God’s Children Need Traveling Shoes
This moment happened weeks ago, but I recall it now as the wind threatens to chill me from my ears all the way down to the tips of my toes. Winter is inevitable.
November 2, and my hands are begging the sun to appear soon. I’m outside the polls with others who care about the needs of the people. My fellow workers bring warmth, even laughter. But they can’t defy the whims of Mother Nature.
I smile at everyone who comes through whether they show interest in what we offer or not. Some are cordial. Only a few are not. A gentleman arrives with a box. Inside are treats and something even more welcome. Glove warmers.
“They are for anyone,” he says. He does not ask whether we cheer red or blue or some strange version of purple.
The sun arrives on time. Gold, orange, and red shine in the trees. The leaves will not be there forever. “None of us claim infinite youth,” I say. And my comrades laugh. They are not youngsters either.
Warmth, it comes from both the inside and the outside. Perhaps someday Maya Angelou can speak for all—a safe place for citizens who put both feet forward onto the blacktop here because the individuals who were voted in, took their positions as missions, not a stance or a power. This will take a lot of time in this fractured country. I pray it happens whether I am on this earth anymore or not.
Autumn and peace. I watch the leaves fall. And pray space opens for people to live truth.
terrypetersen 