Of thee

Watching you roll past the car windows, my country, it's of you I sing. I sing of the road that carries us south to see our friend, carved through farms and fields, hills and mountains, over streams, rivers and lakes.

I sing of your billboards, the windows you show us into your community--what you want us to know and believe about your values. The sweet land of liberty you hope we will see in you.

I sing of the rolling hills of southern Ohio, where people sit on porches watching their own coal carted far north to humming metropolitan areas while their lights glow from the power of steaming nuclear plant on the bank of the river.

I sing of the twisting, turning, snaking, rising and falling turnpike of West Virginia, which crosses Paint Creek no less than five times and reveals glimpses of towns set into the hollows, never knowing more than a few hours of direct sunlight each day.

I sing of emerging through the tunnel into Virginia and beginning the slow climb up through verdant horse country to the dizzying heights that afford a breathtaking vista of half of the state before quickly turning to the long descent that deposits us into North Carolina.

I sing of the boats and skiers on Lake Norman that teasingly suggest the Floridian waters we'll soon be enjoying and happily remind us how close we are to Charlotte, and then South Carolina, which through three decent runs on 77, 26 and 75 will get us to the "short side" of Georgia.

Georgia, I sing of the dozens of bridges that lift us over your maze of waterways and wetlands, hot sun now blazing on our arms and legs even through the polarized glass of the car.

I sing of Florida, as I have my whole life; each breath of summer air heating my lungs to a fiery, zestful glow. The ocean, the parent body of water from which this body made mostly of water sprang and aches to return yearly, monthly, daily.

I sing of true friends, one driving the vehicle which brings us, one awaiting our arrival; each conversation, each laugh another song to sing again and again.

And I sing of those waiting for my return: those I love nestled in our home, songs we've sung together; melodies and lyrics yet to be written.

This sun, this heat, this salt air. This life, this song.