Our Story shows the wonderful grace of migration. I picked apples for many years in northern California. There is a rhythm to picking apples. The human body will break down if this rhythm is not heard. I learned this (in my youth) from migrants.
We scrambled for "wind falls" in the coolness of morning, then with muscles loosened, we took to the ladders. The rhythm of speech was then established. Nothing important was said before footing the ladder.
Do you know that men have pruned trees in anticipation of you? For lifetimes these spaces were carved for your ladder, and with ease you can "enter" the tree to be surrounded by shining fruit and shade, and in rhythm you will find the dents and scrapings of ladders that have gone before.
There was a Jap-Camp in this ranch. The communal kitchen and cots provided years of safety for Asians during the years of war. Ranchers brought provisions by day. Schoolteachers arrived at night with lessons and books and dreams. Do you know that folks did this in anticipation of you?
Do we know that anticipation is migration? We hear the wind falls in noisy buckets and nothing need be said. As in a dream, nothing need be said. Well, perhaps Andale (come on) or Vamos (let’s go)!
Migration will be the last to leave.