I am Iowa

I am Iowa; fertile and productive.

I am strings of corn rows bending over contoured hills etched by water flowing from known to unknown.

I am soil, deep and active; sticky in March and dusty in August.  I am a rock in Winter.

I am rivers with sand bars and muddy bottoms, with all sorts of growing things.

I am the stars and moon to light the path.  I am the ruddy morning, bright noon-day, and the purple violet evening sky.  

I am Iowa; a birth place, a resting place, a living place.