Peace

recesses, not feeling quite as cold as I had a minute ago. I reached the meadow and hiked briskly toward the far end, where a tittle knoll separated the grass from the forest. WhenIreachedmygoal,Ithumped down, short of breath and sweating slightly down themiddleofmy back. The walk had been devoted to shaking off the vestiges offamily and sadness. NowI was still, staring sightlessly across the valley toward gray, wintry mountains. Slowly, like silent movies, images and memories ofPapa began to roll through my mind. I saw him teaching me how to get the cows out of the meadow and down the twisting trail that followed the creek to the back of the bam, his head thrown back in laughter when I had to take the old lead cow by the ear and pull her along so the rest of them would follow. I saw his deep brown eyes shine when I hugged him goodnight. The smell of him wafted up from the old coat and I remembered the countless hunting trips he had taken me on, showing me how to load a rifle, how to call the dogs so they wouldcome, giving me a buckeye for good luck. I remembered his thick, calloused hands, gentle as air, braiding my long, tangled hair into a neat braid that thumped against my back when I walked. I could see me and Thomas sitting up in the hayloft talking about how very magic Papa must be because he could weave baskets from laurel leaves and because he always knew the places all over the meadow where sweet red wild strawberries could be found. I remembered how he taught me not to be afraid of thunderstorms , sittingon the frontporch, counting between flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. And the presents he used to bring us. Sacks ofunshelledpeanuts from Georgia, orange crepe-paper cats that had accordion legs and danced on strings, firecrackers , and once a real copper money bank shaped like a Tennessee walking horse. I remembered being little and wondering if Papa had furry feet inside his shoes because he always walked so quietly to be so big and tall. I remembered. So much. So many very long ago, far away times, and I cried. Great whelping sobs and scalding, raging-at-God tears. The fading light sank aroundme andI clutched attheoldcoatas ifitwere alifejacket. And I cried some more. And more. And more, until there was nothing left but dry wracking sobs that diminished finally intojerky tittle sniffles. The edge ofa threequarter moon was slipping over the top ofMeetinghouse Mountain when the sniffles stopped. I slipped my arms out of the coat, folded it neatly, and walked to the edge of the woods. Falling to my knees, I dug briefly into the damp, snow-spotted leaves. The cold bit at my arms and back as I gathered the coat to my face and chest in a silent, wet-eyed clench. After lowering the coat into the shallow hole, I covered it with wet leaves and sticks. And then I ran. Back across the meadow, down the frozen dirt road, the cold howling around me like a mad dog, my brogans ringing like miniature church bells against the gravel. Peace ...an' somethin' made what is An' then it was An' now we are Folks I tell ya Live honest You're part a somethin'. -Nathan Holaday 40 ...