We drive through the rain to get to North Carolina. Through grey skies and hills that disappear into mist and clouds. Through lush forests and wide, open fields. Cities and towns punctuate the rural landscape that engulfs us, and I fall in love with magnificent tree after magnificent tree, stretching up into the sky, towering over us.
This morning we left Atlanta to head to Durham to collect stories. I recorded 4 stories in Atlanta; some from people I know, some from strangers. Some from survivors and some from bystanders—each one as powerful as it is different.
Being in Atlanta always feels like coming home. I miss the city and my dear folks there. I miss the South and the thick, heavy heat. I miss the parts of me that come alive when I cross over into the South or the Caribbean: the two lands that have shaped me the deepest. I miss the trees and the thunderstorms. I miss the easy smiles and hospitality. I miss it all.