Twenty-seven times. Right on time, on schedule the corn comes up green. Springtime. Then summer. It’s Southeast Missouri. And always catches me off guard, those flat brown fields turning into acres of walls of corn. Here, nothing is rushed. But it also doesn’t stop. Bless its heart. The Mississippi continues flowing down to Mexico. Trains run downs tracks older than me, through their meandering pathways, following each of the river’s curves. And I’ve lived through a lot here. The death of our dog, Oreo. My now ex-mother-in-law. Plus my son, Jude. All in 2020. Over in a single year. Married to Alissa I now understand what Miracle Max says about true love: it’s better than a nice MLT — mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. 27 years. I’m still here. Enjoying the end to an ironically loud night. Then again, this is the night before July 4th.