Earth, Wind & Fire

I don’t ask. There’s no need. I can’t predict the specifics of what’s stewing deep in my husband’s gut on this particular morning, mind you, but after more than four decades of marriage, the quiet tells me enough.

We’re different people, Peter and me. Both old hippies, but I’m a deeply rooted oak while Peter has the spirit of the wind. We argue little and have worked harmoniously all these years raising kids and chickens on the acres gifted to us by my grandparents. Our life is happy and full of love. Peaceful. But peace and joy are very different things.

In our early years, Peter’s wanderlust was easy to accommodate. We’d pack up the little ones and set out in search of adventure. A cooler filled with fruit and sandwiches, quickly packed bags, and a tank of gas were all we needed. But later there were school schedules to contend with, and growing work demands. Our travels required planning and structure, more oak tree than wind. In recent years we’ve stayed mostly put, my roots drawing ever deeper into the earth.

I look at him now, this man who for decades has harnessed his energy and used it to power our family, and I’m overwhelmed with love and urgency. “What do you say we pack up and go somewhere?” I ask and he looks up, surprised and delighted.

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’d ‘ya have in mind?”

I reach over and take his hands in mine. “Let’s see where the road takes us,” I say. “Someplace new. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be so much fun we’ll decide to stay gone forever.”

We head up the stairs to gather our things and I smile, the hand of the wind on the small of my back, my roots and branches ablaze with the promise of possibility.

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GBE #61, Fiction, Prompt: “Use the name of a band as your title and/or theme.”