Home: The sprawling South Dakota plains. When I think of Home, I think of lazy days laying in the grass, staring at the clouds as they roll by, looking across a farmer’s field into the horizon, with nothing to obscure my vision other than the gently swaying stalks of corn. This isn’t to say that my literal home is in the country, it’s actually in the city, but to me, home is more than four walls, it’s a state of mind, and mine will forever be the plains in their constant state of growth and change.
Soil: Squishing it between my hands in a garden, hoping that what I plant will be able to grow, feeling the coolness of it against my feet as I wash my dogs in the yard during the summer, turning it to mud as they avoid the hose for the rinse cycle. Ending as a crust around my feet, between my toes, until I wash it away with the cool stream from the hose, jumping as the cold water hits the tender skin on the tops of my feet.
Rain: What we don’t have enough of anymore. Rain brings me memories of splashing in the gutters, half remembering to avoid glass bottles that could be broken, half in the moment as it falls around me in waves. Memories of kissing my husband outside his mother’s house after watching him perform in a high school play, me wearing his hooded sweatshirt with a tribal emblem on it (this is significant because this was 12 years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday). Shivering as my temperature drops, but staying outside as long as possible under the cleansing drops. My arms are outstretched and I twirl in the rain, my head facing the sky as I give thanks for its cooling mist falling around me. Driving through puddles and watching the water cascade over the passenger window of the car.