Well

March 25, 2013 by agnestirrito Leave a comment

Some of my readers know that we tore down my childhood home a couple of weeks ago.
There was the surprise of a book found in the remains…and the surprises keep coming.
I asked my husband about the well out back.
Will it go, too?
No, the guy is leaving it, and the pump house.
I was comforted by that in a way I couldn’t explain… until last Friday.
Last Friday, Kimberly Willis Holt gave us a handout with the image of a well.
She talked over and over about writing about what matters: dipping into the well.
I sat in that gray university conference area, but I was home.
I was sitting inside an art studio yet to be built.
I was looking out at jonquils, Grandma’s roses, a late crepe myrtle.
Out to my well.
Intact.
Waiting.
It’s been there forever, literally my forever days.
We used it when I was little, that one and one that was uncovered down the road at a neighbor’s house.
It’s my metaphor now. My waiting place.
It’s filled with all my thoughts and stories and things that matter.
The old house is gone and she left something for me again. The backyard well…waiting.