The southeast met me with air heavy with humidity, magnolias in bloom, and the ubiquitous smell of wild honey suckle. It met with all the memories of who I once was in light of who I am becoming.
Refusing to let this new life be all that mattered without first being grateful for all that I have been,
home met me with a love so embodied and intrinsic it must be felt in the quiet pulsing of a forest in the warm afternoon of late spring.
“You may go,” it seemed to say, “but first, you must remember.”
Becca Kello 