I’m tired of the constant migration of criminals from the big cities in the north, the glut of traffic slipping into my small town, the Love Bugs smeared all over my car twice a year, the constant fires looming in the distance threatening my life and home, and running for cover from the hurricanes only to avoid the Mid Atlantic, tropical storms now starting to build on the planes and roll off the coast of Africa.

The hard part of life is creeping up on me; I want the simple life, the piece and tranquility, and the giggles and friendly laughter of the country folk. I want to run away to the wilderness, the hills and valleys in the southeast.

I want to look out the window and watch a wave of gentle rain push down a mountaintop and sweep across my backyard. I want to buy, or rent a small cabin, a one or two bedroom manufactured home; hell, I’d even go for a cot in the kitchen of a small travel trailer that’s parked on the side of a mountain, I’d fire up the grill or a two burner stove and have coffee, pancakes, and sausage for breakfast.

I want to sit by the window with my coffee and listen to the morning birds conversing with peeps and chirps. Pull out my laptop and ditty doodle a melody, a verse. I don’t want no TV, no Internet, no sound of neighbors at all, but where?

Columbus Georgia?
Spartanburg South Carolina?
Cherokee territory?
Greensboro North Carolina?
Somewhere in South Carolina?

I’m tired of palms; I want to smell the evergreens, the White Dogwood, the Red Maple, and poplar.

Give me the sounds of a Banjo, don’t want no Rap music. I want to hear and touch a countrywoman.