Monday, May 9, 2011

Mother's Day weekend in Greenwood

Faulkner would have felt right at home here--the same vibrations he must have felt in Oxford, the fictional Jefferson, Mississippi, resonate in this brick ranch house with the white columns and the magnolia tree, the cicadas droning an alarm, living their one day in mad, erratic exploration of the dandelions and the oaks before dropping, spent, into the dry leaves. Faulkner, or Tennessee Williams, who could represent so exactly the humid claustrophobia of family. I return exhausted, charged with familiar sensations, thick with bad memories, honored, in some way that is impossible to live, that is livable only as art, by where I came from.

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