SHE WALKED OUT OF AFRICA

 

I believe Johanna was giving me a hint; Johanna my sister; warn me in her own special way, a gentle, caring way. She posted a poem a few days ago… or has it been weeks? I can’t keep track of time anymore… it doesn’t matter… time… anymore… to a guy like me. She called it, “To Edith Failing.” My mother Edith. My Mom.

 

I am standing naked, drenched with my head turned toward the sky. Cold rain pours into my eyes. The cobra-skinned clouds & the moon are playing tricks on my mind. After what seems like days of rain, the clouds part & the moon is crystal clear.

 

Blue-dot light stars splash across the night sky. Suddenly it dawns on me that peraps Johanna is preparing me & world I know for the saddest moment of our life… lives really …  hundreds …  maybe more. 

 

Edith is my favorite mother of all time. The first mother walked out of Africa. Edith was that mother. I am grateful she chose me as a son.  She was looking for a challenge. Edith is failing? I wonder if will she return? 

 

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