SplitShire, "Country Road," 2014
On a Sunday, as the clouds drop low, so do we. In a car, on a road, out of sight of ourselves as we look around the bend, say a wordless prayer under our breath for a vulture lying dead in the turn lane, one wing caught by the wind and beckoning. Churches every mile or so, little wooden buildings with sharp steeples, bigger brick buildings draped with vinyl banners proclaiming good news, or a fish fry. Right before the turn-off, along the right-of-way, a man sits on the high green seat of a tractor in his Sunday best, mowing before the rain comes down, mowing in fresh-pressed slacks, suspenders, and a bow tie. Nature is chaos with no hand on a rotary mower— his hand puts the world into a syntax he can speak.