Even though it means the time has come to hit the migrant road again for the warmer winters of south Georgia and Florida, I love the South Carolina low-country fall.
Here, the maple tree leaves look as if they've been dabbed with colors from a heavenly palette.
Here, the pine tree needles look as if they've been circled by long, winding mountain roads.
My migrant life is like these maple leaves and pine needles.
It's a long, winding mountain road, with moments of fear when I feel as if I might fall off the side of the mountain into utter darkness.
It's a golden yellow leaf, with moments of grace when I feel as if I should smile at the universe because it’s face is smiling on me.
“Think of the ground of the heart," says my abuelo as he sits down beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder.
"Sometimes it’s soft and fertile, filled with good soil.
Sometimes it’s hard and rocky, filled with clumps of dirt.
The ground of your heart, mi nieto, is a good place to grow an orchard of peach trees or a field of tomatoes.
Your heart is good soil.”
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