State routes cutting through fields of home grown generations
lives lived in desolate desperations
pull up to a driveway, to a home, brimming with life
completely contained within this acreage
the woods, a garden with a full year of food, a pond
100 years of fond memories of raising kids, corn, horses, birds, bees
trees grown and felled and turned into a barn and house and fire
and a town square, usually empty, but on thursday nights and some saturdays
the homes release their owners into the restaurants and community fare
sharing stories and catching up on those no longer there
gone off to school or war or a career
likely one day to return to repair
broken hearts and spirits
as only a self reliant existence can
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