Glancing out of the car window, watching the miles of bare fields, usually full of corn and beans, makes the area seem so sad. The bare land, the awkward “only in spring” temperatures, and the dark sky make up the epitome of loneliness. The sky reflects your mood, I suppose. Even so, it doesn’t set the bar very high.
Turning to position my body so that I am facing the front of the car, I am brought into the quiet conversation. I’m asked about my day, and what happened while at catechism, and immediately, I feel my eyes widen with childlike innocence that seems to appear whenever I’m asked a direct question. I take the stage, so to speak, and start explaining what they missed out on. By the time I’m done, which only took about a mile to do so, we arrive back at home and I set down and out of the truck to be greeted by two energetic puppies, one wanting all the attention in the world and wiggling her whole body to get it, and another, much calmer dog, just wanting his head and ears scratched. I appease them both, and spend extra time on Lucy, and walk into the house with them following behind me. By eight o’clock, I am ready to go to bed and the day to be over.