Writings from the Heart

Somewhere at the Ranch

When I was a young girl, you could find me running around with my cousins in the front yard of the two bedroom, one bathroom, and one outhouse family ranch house. I’d be somewhere on the bottom of the hill, swimming somewhere in the cold river. I’d be somewhere on one of the hundreds of acres, walking somewhere through a field of dusty wildflowers. “Where’s Sarah?” someone would ask. “She’s somewhere,” someone else would answer.

When I was a teenager, you could find me somewhere at the same ranch, only on the other side of the fence, somewhere on the new fifteen acres. I’d be somewhere in the new house, hiding somewhere in my own world. Or I’d be somewhere behind the ranch, walking for miles and miles in the chamiso, sneaking around somewhere on the neighbor’s land. “Where’s Sarah?” my dad would ask. “She’s somewhere,” my mom would answer.

Now, you can find me somewhere on the same ranch, in the same house, only now I’m somewhere in between the city and the country. You can find me somewhere in the city, sitting somewhere in a busy coffee shop. Sometimes, you can find me somewhere on the county road, staring somewhere into the dark of the forest. You’ll find me somewhere in between life and pleasure, but my heart you will find somewhere at the ranch.

“Where’s Sarah?” the dirt asks. “She’s somewhere,” the wind answers.


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