my pale thighs stuck to the hot leather passenger seat of my daddy’s white pick-up truck as i gazed upon iowa’s rolling hills for the very first time.
we jolted along gravel roads, full speed ahead, and i wanted nothing more than to fling open the rusty old door, tumble out, and run as far as i could get.
the land appeared infinite; my curious mind desperately wished to explore every inch.
we had hours before we would reach our destination: our new home, the manifestation of all of my parents’ dreams. still, i fought the desire to demand we stop then and there among the weeds.
i wanted – no, needed – to scream,
“we’re here, we’re here!”
my young mind saw no need to worry for time, my only wish was to soak in the sun and walk the vast green.
i knew then that there is no limit to the beauty god has painted upon this earth.
i know now that i need, more than ever, the chance to traverse these endless fields. to walk beneath the windmills, to brave the claustrophobia of corn coating hills rolling.
how could i ever wish to leave when i know this land is hiding a piece of me?
-from the prompt “wish” in a recent writing class
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