Deep in the hills and between the streams.
Where fables are passed and the willows weep.
Where wind flows through the tree tops.
And the children grow with the roots of the earth.
Where the creek runs dry and the smoke of the chimney reverberates into the air with last night’s dream.
Oh, Appalachia, how your mountains whisper the wisdom of secrets held onto for generations.
And one day you leave with those secrets in your hands; dreaming of plains and lands that know old trades.
Directions turn into east and west instead of right and left.
And eventually you learn to speak in facts instead of riddles.
The dust no longer lingers for a story to catch onto and the mirrors stop talking back to you.
And the hills turn vast, and the valleys deep, but the fields of wheat and barley have no secrets of yesterday to tell you.
You keep expecting the wooden floors to creek and the smell of coffee to bring the twang of a whispered “good morning.”
But here, the accent is lost to strangers meddling in the future.
So, each night you speak to the moon and promise to hold onto the secrets that were spun from the earth.
You can find Kayla Hall putting words into the universe everyday on Instagram @kaylaAhall.
