Going home

When I have a stressful week at work, I just walk behind our office and stare at a field that I want to believe used to be a cow pasture.

The cow pasture has sour dock growing wild. (I don't think anyone cultivates sour dock.) My grandmother used to chop it up in salads, or get a bunch of them and squeeze the juice onto salads and fresh-picked green beans. It's like lemon juice only it is from a weed. I walk around the cow pasture and cogitate and suck dock juice.

Everybody has their own way of "going back home."