At the cloud's edge,
wispy arrows
pierce the sky,
then wander around
like cattle,
seeking a place to rest.
Edgecombe skies
fill me with wonder,
leave me breathless for more,
more inspiration for
my imaginings.
I escape into their beauty,
thinking of the fields of cotton
and tobacco
that once lay beneath them.
Fields where now,
old hands,
worn down by labor,
can rest a bit.
Field hands remember
and share family stories
of tying the tobacco
on strings
to dry.
We lie
in the sun and remember,
our childhood
on the family farm.
We smile,
for all we learned there.
The cloud's edge
turns up,
as if to agree,
to soothe me.
Edgecombe clouds
fill me with wonder.
Reassure me
that all is well.
