I hear the birds singing until the last drop of light juice squeezes out of the perfect sky. The dark winter filters out of my mind.

34 years ago I am running back to my house. Running down empty neighborhood streets with the sun slowly setting like a Willa Cather novel. There was not a care in the world and I, who worried about everything, felt such peace.

There was the day in the middle of watching the Children of the Corn, I ran outside to get on my bike and chased this rainbow down to the ends. I thought riding all the way to the end of the neighborhood would surely bring me closer but it was still the same distance.

How forewarning.

I stopped and turned around and just rode with the wind in my hair for awhile until dusk.

I slept soundly every night in my rural town. Just the crickets and the moon shining in my window on our one acre patch of land overlooking the prairies. These were some of my best memories.

My father’s words always letting me know how lucky I was.

To feel grateful.

To work hard for what you have.

Now, the birds have stopped and night has stepped in.

1985

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