The quiet company memory leaves behind

When I was born, my grandfather planted a tree. As a child, I climbed its branches, scraped my knees, and spent summers beneath its shade.

Years later, memory and imagination quietly came together in this piece.

While much of it is rooted in childhood memories, part of this reflection imagines what it might feel like to one day look back on a life shaped by the people, places, and ordinary moments we love.

My eyes graze over the land,

Tall cornfields that kissed the edges of my daddy’s land,

And his daddy’s,

And his daddy’s before him.

Fields that now grace my eyes,

Pleasing them like colorful pieces of hard candy.

Salted watermelon,

Soft orange peaches,

Berries ripe and tart,

Sweet things I remember from my childhood.

Like tall Mr. Willoughby, who reached for the sky and embraced us all at the same time.

Protected us from storms life brings and ones freely given by nature.

Swayed from his extended branches,

Gliding from one to another,

Him lifting us up as high as we could crawl, his hard exterior scraping our arms and legs, yet we felt no pain.

Running through fields with old Walter barking in the night,

Catching bugs that light our way in the darkness.

Sweet cream melting down our hands in the summer heat.

Sugary.

Sticky.

Divine.

My withered hands now feel the fragments of the dusty bark.

I lean into the embrace.

My bare feet rub the stalks of grass,

Nature’s homemade rug.

Feel the sun beat down.

Essence.

Dew on my face.

All gone now.

Daddy.

Momma.

Brother.

Walter.

Me, full of years.

Just me and Mr. Willoughby.

Quiet company.

Ancient.

Memories.

— J. Lashelle

If this reflection spoke to you, there is more to explore.