Out here, life is anything but small. Eastern North Carolina’s skies are as high as the row crop fields are wide. The asphalt veins seem endless as they carve through the sustenance that will one day rest on our tables.

Clouds, like quilted blankets, provide shade for those who toil in the black dirt. The wind betrays its covert ways as the brigade of corn stalks bow at its presence. The boots I wear trod across this land with reverence and awe as I ponder its creation. I’m grateful these places still exist and humbled as I measure my insignificance against the breadth of that which lies before me.