rana

This little thing, looking through her window with binoculars.

I was too far up the hil, I couldn’t see her face, but she was there. Every morning at around 8am. I tended fields at that time. a farm hand doing labor chores for a few dollars a day, so I’d just pass her. & I’d constantly wonder what she was looking at. There was a rather large & canvassing oak tree at the top of th hill, like something out of a storybook. Placed there by God, or whatever forces that gave me work for a reminder that fairy tales could be real. That amidst the common denomination of birds, clouds or the sunrise, she could be looking at me.

So one day, I decided to do something on my day off. I bought a bedsheet from Mrs. Abernathy, the largest I could, spent my 2 months salary on it. I got some black paint, & wrote my once upon a time on there, “Who’re you looking at?”, stringing it up on the tree, waiting until 8am. & like clockwork, the little thing came out to the window, binoculars on, as I stood beside the tree. Then disappeared. My heart beat a hundred miles a second, worried she would never come back, that my assumption was just that.

& she held up a napkin, reading “About damn time.”

The little thing was my Princess. She’ll always be my Queen. & damn, am I lucky every day that she found me worthy enough.