“The road leading to my mother’s house is pock marked and bumpy, derelict and beautiful in the way only roads in small southern towns can be.
We barrel along, avoiding craters and random squirrels that kamikaze across the highway. A fulgent sun brightens the forest. On either side of the road, copses of willow oak, silver maple and pine trees do battle with the disheveled undergrowth. Everywhere kudzu thrives, wild and suffocating.
I once felt similarly stifled. The southern way of life.
Today I return carrying a suitcase full of souvenirs and the babies I’ve had along the way.”
Read the full piece here at the Eastern Iowa Review.
Cool, strange words. Very detailed. I can really imagine it. It’s nice. I love it