Just a few short months into a makeshift marriage—husband again seeing the woman he promised he’d left behind—I sat in our ’67 Plymouth (my only connection to the city I’d left), its interior upholstered in homesick blue. If not for the roots of tenacity growing in my bones, tethered to the spirit of ancestors with the ferocity of survival in their blood, I might have withered in that conjugal catastrophe, endlessly suspended in the worst day of my life. What saves us can be simple: Samsonite suitcase, oversized sweater, stonewashed jeans, Aspen leaves shimmering softly in the wind.
Sue Ann Gleason is a writer, educator, and nourishment guide who loves freshly sharpened pencils and pages that turn. wellnourishedwoman.com Instagram: @sueanngleason Facebook: sue.ann.gleason