At dawn, I ran to
the edge of
Olive Border.
All I see is
the field of
flowing gold
and the
morning fog
coming in over
Charlotte’s Hill
like a tidal
wave.
The shrubs
alongside
Gracious Court
sway in the
eye-opening breeze,
pointing to the
horizon.
I waited for what
seemed like
hours. Like
I was waiting
for a fish to
bite the bait in
the middle of a
storm. Like
waiting no longer
meant anything
compared to the
soul-wrecking suspense
awaiting Father’s
arrival.
Mother had warned me
not to go out too early
in case I caught a cold
but I had insisted
that I would be the
second loveliest,
welcoming sight
he saw after
the village.
I was about to
turn, settling
on the fact that
Mother was right and
Father would be home much
later, when I saw
Macho the
donkey on
Charlotte’s Hill, then
to my delight
the familiar figure
in my heart
appeared right by
his side, arms open
wide.
“Anna Maria, I’m
home!”
