Home > Work > Heaven, My Home (Highway 59 #2)
1 " faith is more important than terra firma, that it has to be, for the material world is full of trials and tribulations, transgressions against body and soul, against our right to any piece of this country, "
― Attica Locke , Heaven, My Home (Highway 59 #2)
2 " That was the thing about second chances—it was impossible to know what was real or what wasn’t; every act of forgiveness was a leap of faith. "
3 " And that's the bit that stung, the hurt that cut bone-deep. After years of being lulled into believing that the universe bent toward justice, he saw how little friends and neighbors thought of his life, of his right to this country.After Obama, it was forgiveness betrayed. "
4 " the notes of his guitar faded like fog at dawn. "
5 " This whole time, he’d thought he was saving an elderly black man who had seventy years’ worth of justification for shooting a white supremacist threatening his granddaughter on his property, but in fact, he was protecting a millennial black girl who was putting out to get weed from a man who called her a "
6 " ...how dawn started in the pine tops in the surrounding woods, light the color of butter freshly churned eventually rolling down to brighten the East Texas thicket, the rising sun making diamonds of the dewdrops on the lush green lawn of the back eight acres, where on any day of the week you might see a fawn poke its white-capped head out from the trees, eyes a glassy green, its black button nose sniffing at the same honey-sweet scent of wet grass and pine as you...... "
7 " You're losing yourself, son, he heard his uncle say. Don't let anybody steal your grace.....But why, he wanted to ask, is the weight of grace always on us? "
8 " But a gulf had opened up between them. After twenty-some years of friendship, had race finally dumped a swamp of quicksand at their feet, making it impossible for either man to reach the other without the threat of losing himself in the process? or were they just doing their jobs the best way they knew how? "
9 " Here," he called, the sound like a single drop of water on cotton as the Spanish moss ate the words out of his mouth whole, needing the cried of lost souls as sure as it needed the blood of the bald cypress to survive in the swamp. "
