In a field in the land of Goshen
When I was younger, shorter, and blonder, I spent a great deal of time in a field that bordered our land. It sat on the top of a hill, sloped slightly and gave way to the village below. There was a well-worn, slanting, and crooked path up the middle. The view from the top took in about as much that was exciting about the land of Goshen. A lake. Fields with cattle and sheep. Our school, the store, the ball field, my house. And the road that could take you away. I felt as though I was as far from home as I could be while still being close enough to hear and see my father calling for me on the back doorstep. This was my safe place. It was m y retreat when the weight of the world was too much and I could no longer keep it in. I would walk to the top and sit in the cool grass, watching as my world kept going. I could step out of things fo...