I came across a story in the chapter of The Warmth Of Other Suns that dealt with memories and attachments that Black Americans recalled after the decades following the Great Migration. Going hundreds of miles (or more) and not again having certain connections with people or aspects of their younger years was the price to be paid for the chance at a better life. To flee the Jim Crow south. Isabel Wilkerson wrote an essential slice of our national story that allows for insightful revelations too few care to understand. Brillant does not come close to defining this book.
On the page I have selected for this post comes the story of the author’s relatives and the night-blooming Cereus.
This post would not be complete, of course, without a photo of the flower bloom of the Cereus.