It Still Whispers to Me
Some mornings I can hear the roosters crowing as the dawn breaks. Some evenings I can hear the wind rolling through the maple trees. I sometimes hear my father whistling for we children to come back home. I can hear the leaves rustling and crunching while my brothers and I are running through the mountains.
Sometimes I can feel the serenity as I sit on "Big Rock" overlooking the town. I can feel the excitement of reading my many books hoping to escape the reality of "small town".
I sometimes see my little brother when he was seven years old proudly proclaiming he and I will get out of the small town we were born into. I hated that town. I loved that town.
Yes, it still whispers to me. I can not ignore the sounds. I embrace them. I am at peace. I am in acceptance. My heritage. My childhood. My family. All these things have made me who I am.
I wanted out of that small town so bad yet I would do anything to return. To feel the innocence of my youth as well as the hardships which have made me who I am. Praise is to God for enabling me to leave. Praise is to God for never allowing me to forget. The whispers at times are so faint but there is no mistaking the sounds which call to me, reminding me, informing me that I am a hillbilly and will die as such no matter the soil I have trod nor the soil I currently reside upon.
Whispers keep falling upon my ears. I hear them. I accept them. I hope they never fade away.