Off gravel roads

I asked an herbalist who lived off the side of a gravel road in Nebraska, “What happens when someone asks you a question for which you don’t know the answer?” She said, “I tell them, ‘I don’t know, I’ll have to find out and get back to ya.’”

I ask myself, when I pull off the side of a gravel road in Nebraska on a late summer evening, when the mist begins to settle over the prairie grasses and wild flowers, creating the most deliciously sweet aroma that will forever remind me of my childhood, when the cicadas are singing their closing hymn and a thin crescent moon paints her watermark on a small corner of sky, “What is more important than this right now?” The gravel road says, “You have to ask?”

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