Thursday, March 5, 2009
There is something sacred about those hills and hollows of Tennessee where I grew up. When I walk the narrow road that leads to my boyhood home, or walk the fields and forest paths I knew then, I have a special sense of reverence for where I am. The twilight of a summer's evening found us sitting on our front porch after a day's work. Here we talked of things country folks talk about when trying to make sense out of life. As daylight faded, and life shifted into low gear, the whipporwills would call to each other from the edge of the woods. The big Hickory, Sweet Gums, Poplar and Oak trees that surrounded our house sang with the rhythmic chants of Katydids and tree frogs. Their music was the lullaby that sang me to sleep more times than I can count. Even in the cities where I have lived since, I still listen for the faint echo of their song. My stories are about life and its lessons from those days. Ours is a day of corporate greed and superficial relationships. Common sense has been forgotten. In days to come I plan to share some of those lessons with anyone who may be interested in returning to a better quality of life.