It is motoring meditation along the rutted back roads of my Virginia homeland.
Hand-laid rock walls and split-rail fences lace the boundaries of historic farms and country estates.
Songbirds–blue, red, and yellow–dart like rainbows across the road and zigzag trees thick with greenery.
Buddha cows wade through the velvet of belly-deep grass, while weathered farmers practice the Zen
of John Deere and Toro.
Proceed with Caution: Suburbia Ahead.
Barbara L. Steinberg