Heartland

In this heartland, there are rolling green hills and rows of corn.
There are vast expanses of land that gives up its wealth for humans to consume.
There are miles of highways, scarring the plains and bridging waterways.
There are pastures full of cattle, flicking their tails, oblivious to passing cars.
There are wide open spaces, dotted with homesteads and crumbling barns.
There are calloused hands, barely able to feed their own while feeding millions.
There are cemeteries beneath whose soil lie innumerable untold stories.
There are rotting motels and smoky dive bars.
There are gas stations owned by people whose ancestors saw Ghandi walk to the sea.
There are billboards telling me that god will hate me if I have an abortion.
There are dogs barking as an Amish buggy passes.
There are towns just big enough for one cleverly-named hair salon.
There are rusted tractors and empty campers being swallowed by tall grass.

In this heartland, there are too many roads, and not enough time.

taken at a friends family cabin near Gays Mills, WI