I’m a dweller of the borderlands; that’s where
life is most interesting and revealing, and surprising.
The border country is varied — it has a little of this
and a little of that. It has some overflow,
or a renegade, that ventures across the line.
That edge is what calls to me the loudest.
I was raised up with a view to the edge. Borders
last. I find that edges endure even after
they change for the better or for the worse.
Crossing that line was always a childhood
adventure — we were always on the prowl
into the unknown parts.
The edge is where one thing stopped and
another thing started. Born in the city, most of
my life took root on the northern edge of the Ozarks.
This is where the rocky, rolling forests tumble
into the Missouri River. Where river culture meets
Ozark highland and Old German…
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