A sky painted with the most grey of clouds,
I passed through northern country,
land off of the lake,
following the birth of spring.
As the antiquated roads twisted and intertwined underneath my wheels,
I attempted to look for meaning in the surrounding land.
Kingsville, Jefferson, Austinburg, Dorset…
covered bridges, creeks, charming main streets, cut down fields…
it felt too familiar for much of my taste.
Even questioning the history,
the stories that may have unfolded in the towns and villages,
didn’t feed an urgency for wonder.
Surely, there has to more to this region,
for curiosity’s sake,
than just common American towns and villages.