I scan further out than just this street, a column of smoke rising off in the distance. I remember I winced looking at it, it was likely someone's home, or livelihood. I remembered back to the multiple house fires of my early years. One took our family home soon after it was finished. I always remember that fire, even though I was young. There were others of course, but that one so soon after our home was built was a real gut-punch. As I watched from a long distance the smoke began to thin and dissipate into the sky.
I saw a hut with a small family, only a father and two kids, a boy and a girl. The man looked over at me, I remember I tried to give him a gentle smile, but he didn’t return it. I can’t blame him, and I can also understand where he got that mood from. My mother was taken away when I was young. I respect that man for sticking with his kids, my father offered me and my four siblings no such courtesy. I turned towards the south, watching for a short while longer as people struggled to make their fields survive.
After a few more minutes of pondering I walked back to the now readied bus, settling back into my seat as we set off. Instead of continuing my useless watching I pulled my notebook back out and hastily began writing out lines. I wrote for what felt like maybe five minutes, before glancing out the window to see the sun setting behind California’s coastal mountains. I remember looking back at my page, and writing down a simple title. “This Land is Your Land.”