Outdated

I am not made for these modern times Missouri mud runs through my veins unspoiled country air flows through my lungs. my roots are intertwined in the bedrock of culture, traditions and folklore of a pioneer Midwest My heart beats with the rhythm of wind through oak trees the sway of golden wheat steady fall of summer rain on metal porch roofs My voice is the sound of pickup trucks on gravel roads tractors plowing through gumbo hoot of owls from leaning red barns. yip of foxes or the howl of coyotes from across green pastures under full moon’s glow trumpeting of roosters greeting the day song of blue jays, cardinals, red wing blackbirds caw of crows pecking through early snow on harvested corn fields beat of horse hooves lazy bawling of cows My nostrils are filled with the smell of wildflower meadows, fresh baled hay alfalfa, soybeans, and apple blossoms I am lightning bugs on summer’s eve coon hounds asleep on sunlit porches family picnics on red checkered tablecloths horseshoes, freeze tag and kick the can I am unlocked doors and open windows rocking chairs and back porch swings I am outdated