God’s Country

The last few days have been densely packed with a number of concerns and unexpected activities.  I hope to offer some description soon, but until then I’m short on words.  So today, I’m going to offer up some writing by the great novelist and photographer, Wright Morris.

fmw_cur

A straw-haired, Scandinavian-type woman, Opal Mason often cried when babies were born, girls especially, or when grown men slept with her.  Something about the love-making of men struck her as sad.  They came to her at night, walking the railroad ties or in the cinders edging the tracks.  Seated on her bed they would take off their shoes and tap out the cinders, leave on their socks.  They were mostly good, decent, strong, silent, smelly men, and they all seemed to think they would live forever, make love forever, and then like babies drop off to sleep.  She never slept herself, since sleeping she could do at another time.  In a railroad town she had the tooting engines, the smoking lanterns, the receding caboose lights, and the sleeping grown-up lovers all at one time.  It made her sweetly melancholy.  It was a great pleasure for her to lie there and cry.

Recently, I’ve been reading God’s Country and My People by Wright Morris.  It’s a wonderful marriage of image and text.  I love this passage.

morris118

Until I find my own words again, I think this will have to do.

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