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I awake and am refreshed by the aroma of home. That cedar and lemon mixture. Dad's cologne and Mama's favorite cleaning scent. The sounds of country life, trills from the mouth of a Wood Thrush. The air from my partially raised window brushes along the nape of my neck, spiking the hairs there, and littering my arm in a sheet of gooseflesh. The coyotes sang me to sleep with Magnolia's face at the forefront of my mind last night.
I run my forehead along the freshly fluffed pillows that Mama set up in the guest bedroom, considering my room had been transformed into a studio for her to curate various art form; paintings, sculptures, pottery, you name it and she can make it with her crafty, pink-petaled painted digits. Just like my little sister, Sisi. They're so similar, the two of them. Of course my parents asked if it was okay first, but Mama was still uncertain about it even after I gave her my unneeded blessing.
She hadn't altered anything about the space since I'd departed with nothing but small suitcase and a plane ticket to Los Angeles that I'd saved money for from working endless hours at Honey Wind Acres—Magnolia's parents ranch—so many summers ago in a row. Now, all of my things are tucked away in the shed out back. If you could even refer to it as much, it's more like a barn.
