The trees in Mississippi grow wide and tall, flanking the road like old, obese soldiers. Upon their branches they drape the prize of their lady, her silver green hair hanging in matted tendrils, catching the softest breeze.
The sky loses importance in Mississippi. It’s there, but nothing more than a background for all the glorious green that floods the earth. Stand still too long in that southern state and the green will engulf you.
Good thing I like green.