Closing my eyes, I can see myself as a little girl running through the fields, swirling in circles, laughing out loud. I danced to music nobody else could hear.
“Sitze still, Kind (Sit still, child)” my Grandmother often said and I did as told.
I loved to dance, I loved music. Why walk if you can hop and jump, swirl and skip?
Right about now, when the sun shines a little bit brighter, that’s when I start to see dirt everywhere. I have the spring cleaning disease! Apparently, it runs in our family, my Grandmother gave it to me.
“Do you want me to bring anything?” I asked my friend before I stepped outside. I was on my way to her house, expected her to tell me to bring a nice bottle of something red.
“Yes,” she said, “Bring your tools.”
For years I thought we had magical dirt in our home; somehow it could only be seen by me. I never understood how it worked, but I assumed the dirt could decide when to show itself and for some odd reason, it decides to only do so when I was around.
I have a very good friend, she and I go way back. She is African American and one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I am tall, blonde, with blue eyes and freckles, she is a dark skinned Goddess and the poster child for the word “petite”. We are quiet a pair.