At dawn, I ran tothe edge ofOlive Border.All I see isthe field offlowing goldand themorning fogcoming in overCharlotte’s Hilllike a tidalwave.The shrubsalongsideGracious Courtsway in theeye-opening breeze,pointing to thehorizon.I waited for whatseemed likehours. LikeI was waitingfor a fish tobite the bait inthe middle of astorm. Likewaiting no longermeant anythingcompared to thesoul-wrecking suspenseawaiting Father’sarrival.Mother had warned menot to go out too earlyin case I caught a coldbut I had insistedthat I would be thesecond loveliest,welcoming sighthe saw afterthe village.I was about toturn, settlingon the fact thatMother was right andFather would be home muchlater, when I sawMacho thedonkey onCharlotte’s Hill, thento my delightthe familiar figurein my heartappeared right byhis side, arms openwide.“Anna Maria, I’mhome!”