The Sky

I find nothing pretty about this part of the world but the skys. They can be so clear and blue, the moonless nights and the plathora of stars...Though the richest starry nights I've saw were in Appalachia, and many in what is now my Ex's yard, others from mountain balds. In the land that I dearly call home the sky's are small, with trees and mountains lording around you. The sunsets are mixed with mountains while here, it's flat with little to no trees, it's just the sky...The sky alone in it's vastness. The sky owns the moment.

I seperate the land from the people in this view. I've known them in their gentle kindess and witnessed their brutality. They love the land, but don't respect it. They see nothing wrong in littering it for to them a man made garden is far prettier than the open land. And as I don't see it that way, it's the same as the Bride dressing to her finest, she's not pretty without the dress and make up. And in one manner you find them uncuthe, in the other you admire their customs. It's a brutal land and in order to survive you have to be brutal as it is, and to survive together, you have to have the thoughtful kindess of friendship pure. I've left them, but some I still see as my friends. I know that now some may no loger live, and I try to think otherwise.

I saw the skys that David Lowery looked at when he wrote this song and being a fan of his as I am, every time I hear this song, I think of the Iraqis and I wish them the best.

Tomorrow is Chistmas and I miss seeing the bare branches of the hardwoods and the sweet smell of wood smoke as well as the cool air that carrys it. Jesus loves you, Peace on Earth.

The Appalachianist