Pioneering

Rolling clouds over rolling hills. Kentucky is winding it roads out in endless curves. No hurry, this journey drives me through its curling landscape as a self-reading picture book of racial memories. Born in a far way place, I feel rooted now to these unfolding boonies and hollers, backwoods and backroad, places that speak to my very bones. A small town ahead, a clapperboard store a gas station and a 7-11. Despite being modern they have that tumbledown structure that is native to these rural backwaters. The shanty tilt of well-worn porches, dusty front yards flagged with the fading banners of old glory. The sun will be going down soon, I'm driving slow, meandering into a history I recognize as my own. The fields are threaded with deer as evening paints the gleaming creeks gold. I'm told that perfection is a pocketsize piece of scenery no one has discovered yet, a place just right, one just now appearing as my memorable soul.