Devonne Brown

I grew up on a dirt road with quiet skies and darkened rooms where there was one light in the center of the room and two table lamps, a luxury beside a rocking chair and one end of the couch for reading. The kitchens had a dim bulb in the middle as did the bedrooms. The bathrooms did too, when they were added to the house. 

I still travel the dirt roads to get where my heart feels full. The houses have changed very little. The lighting is the same, and sometimes there are no lamps for luxury, just one dim bulb in the ceiling and two electric outlets in each room, an afterthought when it was added years ago. In these houses, love and comfort await me, and trees surround and protect me. Still. 

The brightest spots of the houses were the flowers that grew outside. Brilliant begonias with angel wings, impatiens, four o’clocks, petunias, and cox combs. No one dared plant touch-me-nots, they grew forever and ever and only got thicker and thicker and you could  never get rid of them. Hollyhocks grew by the river. 

I chose my backyard for its forest of giant oaks. I keep my house dark for the days of comfort and safety I felt. Lamps by the chairs and couches for reading, overhead lights in the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms. 

I still have to travel dirt roads to get to where my heart is full. I drive through the creek, avoid the ruts, find the gravel, and marvel at the ferns and moss on the rocks. I was not born for these days and times.