Sunday Light and Word – This Land

 

Landscape 9

 

 

 
There were a group of bike riders rolling toward the river. Bright spandex tops and bottoms gripped their urgency, beads sweating off of them with too much care. I wondered what they were seeing as the Oklahoma sun burnt up the roadways at eight in the morning.

There was a wedding in my future, and by nightfall I’d have all but forgotten their stern exhaustion. By night, I was stuffing  Maryland crab cakes into my mouth, flown in by a good woman.

I stood out amongst two gigantic magnolias, next to an old dilapidated private tennis court and wondered what a future would hold for those trees. Eventually we pave it all. Eventually we torture our bounty. Eventually we sink beneath the confluence. But that night, I smoked a cigar, and wore a bonnet and worried about my increasing waistline.

Back in LA, I saw the same stern exhaustion as those Oklahoma bicyclists on the face of a homeless guy digging through a recycling bin. I remembered a magazine I’d picked up in the airport in Oklahoma, it’s title taken from a Woody Guthrie song.

 

by Hank Cherry

About Hank Cherry

Hank Cherry works as a photographer, filmmaker and writer in Los Angeles. His work has appeared in Slake, Southwestern American Literature, Poydras Review, and The Los Angeles Review of Books and he writes a column about the history of jazz for Offbeat. He is in post production on his first full-length documentary.
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