#flinly

As I sat in the back of the van around me were a million humans. Working, loving; curtains drawn or holding hands. A buzz of life. So many faces all walking by each other.

And it crept over me like homesickness.

I am a stranger. I don't know these people, they never saw me and I don't know their names. All these many people and nowhere of my own. I'm an alien in a human city.

And the van merges onto the highway and off we go. Brushed against so many people but now we're going home.

We were in church. All lined up in rows with our bibles in our laps. The sun is warm and golden through the window. A mother rocks her baby and a couple whisper to each other. There's a man standing at the pulpit and he's reading words of truth to us. He takes us along each phrase and shows us what it means. Clearing the cobwebs from our dusty minds.

My legs are crossed and I keep my thumb stuck between the pages of Ruth and I listen to the story of women long dead. Only here for a glimpse. She never saw me and doesn't know my name. But here we talk about her. How she worked and loved in a land not of her people.

And a feeling creeps through me, like homesickness.

I am a stranger. I don't belong here. An alien on this human earth.

My boots have holes in them but I still make my way down the hill to the creek. The ground is wet from the thunderstorm, and the sky is gaining storm clouds. The trees wear new spring on them, bright green that pops against the wet earth. The creek is full and rushing over its rocky bed. Twisting its path in roots and branches. A tree from years ago sits across the creek, holding young trees up and water rushes under. I stand on the other side, blocked from my wandering. And I can glimpse the sun shining off the forbidden water. The little current flowing on and always moving. Here just a second and gone further on

And a feeling creeps over me. And it hurts inside my chest.