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Bush And Sky And Where I Belong

In the past I have written stories that were about me but where the main character was "She". Writing about She allowed me some distance so that I could talk about it. I have written this new piece about me without "She".

The dry air prickles my skin with tickling fingers. My hands caress the desert grass feeling the hidden life that flows up through the earth with all of the stories, histories, and people that have been there before me, that I am now a part of. My eyes are closed but I don’t need them to see the blue sky with sparse clouds that are white but also carry the color of the land. The air carries the voices of those who found this land and became part of it. My blood flows like the red rock with the rhythms of the people and animals that have passed.

This is where I am from. These are my people. Many may say that I have no right to say this, as they have. Calling me outsider, pretender, and unbelonging. They have scoffed at me. They call me unwanted because I do not know where I began. They say this place and these people cannot truly be mine because my story starts elsewhere, I do not know. But I have chosen this, this people, this place. I came by way of another but this is where I have found my home. I came from mystery, from magic, from fate. Here is where I hear voices and feel strength. I chose this land and its people and they have chosen me in return. It is here that I return to remember that I belong somewhere, that I have people and a place when others tell me no.

This is my home. This is where I belong. These are my people.
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