Signposts and Hedges | Visiting My Brother's Nebraska Farmstead On August 30th At Dusk.

The wealth of being here: plump cherries that droop fat-bellied from leaves, green spears whose tips stretch dream-ward for one dance with the dangling moon, ochre roses over concrete walks that run north by northwest to the old town square where quart milk cartons catch on park bench legs beneath lonely men with little cash to spare, and further on to barns with rooster cages, rust-red barrels, snarls, yips on gravel roads, past stiff-stalked fields and slow, one-lane traffic to hills that rise above the last signpost. Visiting My Brother's Nebraska Farmstead On August 30th At Dusk Stars drop like salt on tablecloth. [Extracted from the article]