The Rural District

Cities serve a purpose. We haven’t quite figured out what it is, but they’re bound to someday.

I’m only kidding. I like cities. I enjoy the hustle and bustle. I can walk down the street, and no one pays any attention. I can blend in. I’m just one of a quarter million people.

There’s a frequency that buzzes within a city, though. You’ve heard of the “hustle and bustle.” There is constant traffic, crowd noise, music blaring somewhere, and the reverberating footsteps of people going about their business.

Then there’s the country.

A woodpecker is making a hole in a tree somewhere. A car passes by every few minutes. The whippoorwill sings while the raindrops greet the earth with a muted, steady rhythm.

The river runs deep and silent for long stretches until it encounters a shallow rocky interval. After rushing over the rocks and one foot falls, it returns to its usual course — running soundless and steadily.

A bullfrog leaps from an overgrown embankment into a pond. The sound of their calls permeates the evening air.

Then there are the men and women of the country.

They are the Crown Jewels of the rural district.

The hardworking men and women. Although, at the moment, let’s focus on the men. Maybe I’ll write something about the women sometime, or maybe, I’ll let them write something about themselves. Yeah. That sounds good.

“Nowhere, USA”
They are God-fearing,
gun-toting guys
Camo-smearing,
wear bolo ties
Track down the deer,
dress it up nice
Stare down their fear
dead in the eyes
Strike up a fire,
stir the red coals,
Buy fishing wire
Restring the poles

Honest, hard-working,
Good guys to the core
Loving and living,
And work till they’re sore
Stretch the barbed wires,
Tack down the shoe
Rotate the tires,
That’s all you can do

Nowhere, USA,
The town off the grid
They start early today,
To work the long shift
Their collars are blue,
But They’re all they can be
It’s Nowhere to you,
But it’s Somewhere to me.

Ah, the country.

to those living in Canaan’s land,
– Caleb