Leroy searched the sky for a minute before answering. “Seeing takes perspective — the courage to be yourself. I remember a time: ‘twas the first warm day of spring, you was barely two years old. She was playing with you in the early grass, both of you naked in the sun, laughing and rolling, happy to be outside. She weren’t just watching you, but with you, all natural-like. I’d been gone — she didn’t know I’d got back. I left again so she wouldn’t. She was there for herself.”Destiny’s eyes sparkled wistfully. “Maybe you should do that. Take her clothes and play in the sun and the grass, I mean.”
Leroy sat up and watched Turkey Crick carry momentary importance away to the river, as birds in the willow brush flitted through sparse remaining leaves. Their season was almost over. His shoulders rose as he filled his lungs with new resolve.
“We all wear layers. They start as places to hide, but build until we’re lost. It’s not your mother’s fault: it’s mine. I tried to make a soft place to rest good hearts, but it can’t be done. Good hearts aren’t soft. Each spirit must have its own warrior.”
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