It was Palm Sunday and our long journey home was not lined with palms but littered with the charred stubble of cotton fields, the rubble of a lost cause strewn before us, not the kingdom of jubilo we had fought for, the old home place on her last breath of an iron lunged reconstruction...not even ole Gabriel the mule to lift the joist to level the sunken porch....taken to bear the strain for the rogues now in control....in the overgrown grass out back...I bent and picked some of the wild hurricane lily's growing under the pecan canopy....found one of the few unbroken jars and made an arrangement....It stood in stark contrast....but I knew the rubble called the South would some day.... like these white lilies....rise despite the storm and bring again a beauty to this land of Dixie....
No comments:
Post a Comment