By Kirra Kimbrell
Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?
It all started with the light. That might have been where it ended also. As a child I swam, out to the wild ocean drowning under the weight of the sea and her imagined gods. It was a fluorescent light, the kind that as a child I did not quite recognize a modern imposition upon the fields of warm incandescent that bathed everything else. A fluorescent light in the local grocery.
The fluorescent lights fascinated me. Or rather they helped to catch my attention and cause distraction.. All too soon I was away from the glow of those lights and standing on the sidewalk, blinding down at the concrete roasting in the direct sun. It never rains here. Drive twenty minutes and you will have rain once a day, at 945 in the morning. I grip the newly bought peanut butter tight and follow my father to his truck. He lifts me into the seat and we head towards that rain.
The imagining and experiences of my childhood shaped much more of my adulthood and mannerisms than I would have imagined possible. I still revel in the simple beauty of the land and find solace in it. I crave oftentimes the freedom that I felt then and feel most fulfilled when the moments I am engaged in mirror the wonder elicited by my child mind.
The truck windows fog as we sit – the sound of water from a million directions lapping at our ears, the smell of nearby cattle wafting in the back window, and the taste of peanut butter stuck to the roof of my mouth – boundless wonder in an everyday moment.