The woman walks away from the car. Her husband in the driver’s seat and the children in the back seat sleep, dreaming of summer storms. We watch her from our car in complete silence, pondering. Should we step out and stop her? After all, she is simply walking. Yet, sometimes, walking carries with it a sense of inevitability, of no turning back. In front of us, the pink salt marshes, etched by crimson rivulets, are reminiscent of an alien place. Flamingos line up like sentinels, one long leg on earth, the other, hidden, goes somewhere we cannot see. When the woman finally reaches the edge of the salt marshes, she puts one foot in the calm, shallow water and, balancing on one leg, stretches out in all directions. It’s so late that it is terrifying to witness someone’s life awakening. The sunset has dressed the sky in pink for the long night. Her long, hidden leg soon reaches us.
Homepage Image: Lanecia Rouse Tinsley, roots, 2021, from Gulf Coast Winter/Spring 2023, Issue 35.1.
