The South is a friendly place. People are much nicer than anywhere else I’ve ever been. But it can be a lonely place too. I don’t know if I love it because of that, or I am the way I am because it is the way it is. Chicken or the egg.
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After Andalusia, we made our way on two lane American blacktop across Georgia, through little towns with cafes and white wooden churches, and the occasional town square with the antebellum courthouse in the middle.
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Life can be really heavy sometimes, and back home in the midwest and the South, the air is so heavy, it’s like the weight of the past and present both is on my shoulders and I can’t think about adding the future just yet.
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He would have been ninety next month. That’s a fair amount of years for a life by any definition. But, the world has lost a great artist. A literary legend has passed on to wherever he is now. Hopefully his work, which by no means caters to the utopian dreams of certain gatekeepers, will stick around to remind generations to come just how depraved we really are.
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