Winded Wings

From the late 50s until the mid-60s, As I struggled through the mid-summer heat, I searched but found neither retreat nor relief. From before sunrise until after the setting sun, a little boy labored with a hoe in the hand in the Spring or with a big cotton sack on his shoulders in the Fall. Very little favor was the lad ever given. I longed for the brevity of a sweet release. It wasn't enough to be shaded by a willow tree. I craved for the lasting joy of being forever free. Freedom to feel a cooling comfort upon my body; Freedom for my soul to set its compass toward my destiny; Freedom to refuse futility and determine my own choice of toil; Freedom for my spirit to be dislodged from the cherished delta soil. By grace, my spirit rose from Cottonland to a higher richer ground. And like an eagle, I soared high with my wings on the wind.