We stand at the edge of the marsh together, then Gerry suggests a walk toward the high point on the land a short distance away. Together we step across the stubble left from last years’s crop of canola. Foolishly, I’ve worn sandals and the short sharp remnants of the canola leave scratches on my legs. Tangible memories of Manderley that I will carry back home when we leave.
As I stand on this little hill and look in all directions I realize that I feel like myself in a way that I had forgotten. There is a Linda I barely know anymore.
The eclectic selection of music we’ve been listening to on our road trip includes a song co-written by Canadian performer Michael Buble called Home. The music and the lyrics tug at my soul; I too want to go home. One line in particular speaks of a place I have been often lately. “And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life.”
The pain in my shoulder and arm that I’ve been dealing has disappeared since we arrived on the prairie. I felt the stress begin to fall from my body a few days ago when we drove out of the Rocky Mountains and the prairie appeared. Somehow, my body instinctively knew to breathe deeper.