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Updated: Sep 10, 2021

by ALLIE BEENE - September 1, 2021

I gaze upon the patchwork quilt of land below me.

squares and rectangles of soybeans, corn, and wheat, all joined by stick-straight seams of road that connect at crowded intersections and seemingly disappear into fluffy, textured, green forest scraps-

serpentine blue-green fabrics, meandering in and out of minuscule polka-dotted towns, sweeping beside circular silos and cubic red barns, breaking apart little plaid villages with snippets of steel bridging the gap-

threads of cargo trailers led by bold locomotives interrupting impatient stitches full of clunky vehicles and teensy pedestrians-

fluffy cotton balls of water vapor scattered above, providing blankets of shade to cloth country lands-

a great, yellow lamp called Sun, hovering above it all, allowing me to see the Quilter’s careful handiwork.

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