I arrived in time to appreciate the annual Baptist baptism in the full creek below the pear orchard, cotton plants in full bloom on the Miller farm, and wheat harvesters on the southern plains. My feeling was that I had never left but, I was gone six months. An extensive time if you’re me lugging baggage and blues for a full year now; the blink of an eye if Grandma Clara tending the fruiting branches of cotton and pear for the last time. I’d been absent long enough to see the familiar with new eyes. I finally believe what Grandma Clara said about being Woman, not because I wanted her ancient views but because I had lived them. The baptism ceremony celebrates spring and renewal, the cotton blooms nod to life and gatherings, the wheat harvest is blessing and provision. Is this how they write
