Welcome to Flyover Country, the vast and delicious expanse between the coasts. Here is where I work and travel, writing about the ordinary, knowing that it is really extraordinary. Nonstop flights from New York to Los Angeles constantly fly over us:
Silver wings and contrails paint names
Across our sky,
They fly from coast to coast.
Quick gaze at our patchwork land
Once white and black, then green and blue
Glide through, enroute.
Little glance from laptop light
To silent scenes below
They come and in a cutting shard they go.
Yet our fathers left us here
To work the space and
Pump the bounty to the coasts,
And keep the secrets of the land.
We stand, look up, wonder where they go,
Thank God they mostly do.Excerpt from Flyover Seasons
(North Star Press 2012)
There is plenty of snow on the hills around Duluth, but as we drove closer to the water of Lake Superior the temperature moderated and the waterfront was nearly snow-free. Lake Superior is still ice-free and the large body of … Continue reading
Wind turbines seem to be springing up in numerus places upon our windswept prairie. Early settlers complained about the incessant wind as they moved out into the western areas of flyover country. It is said that the constant winds drove … Continue reading
It has finally happened. A roundabout has been built in our little portion of flyover country. Not everyone is certain why such a complicated traffic control system was necessary. People have gotten by with plain old stop signs for a … Continue reading
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