The dead of Grassy Plains lie there and push up daffodils, the cemetery squared on all sides by fields tilled for more workaday plants. Back out the side road, Coyote looks up at you, and when you pull over and step out to snap a pic you can tell right away there’s something dead and ripe on the June air blowing over the grassy plains. That’s okay he’ll hide and wait for you to move on.
Horses and loaders and shelled out old school buses all out to pasture on the grassy plains, in the beetle kill burnt forest. And Fords and Chevys and Dodges, whole grave sites full of ’em, you spy them out there off the back roads.
And then out of nowhere there’s the Happy Smiling Peace Ranch there on a break in the woods with statued Dangun, grandson of Heaven, all alone in that grassy field… you kind of feel sorry for him because he’s all alone there doin’ his best to remind us that we all come from earth, we’re not bound to competing religions and races. Well of course you knew that! I mean is the Pope Catholic? Do bears poop all over this place? Of course they do!
Say Dangun gets bored. He takes up cloud bursting. Betcha he’s good at it.
You can skip a lot of pavement with a good back road map. Sure this adds miles, but it lets the mind wander. Metaphors try to make sense but only manage a little synchronicity. Like most events on this lengthy detour, the quirks and ironies are incidental, unintentional, and wholly sincere.