In the broken-down, sway-back farmhouses
Of the Minnesota backcountry,
Out on snake-weaving dirt roads no one travels,
Where only ghosts reside,
Murmuring might-have-beens.
* * * * * * * * * *
I don't think anywhere in Minnesota truly qualifies as "backcountry," at least not compared to, say, Montana or Australia. But still, you get out on a winding country road in early fall, just before harvest season, when the light's almost gone, and you'll feel as alone as alone can be.
