Where the Ozarks are, where they really are, is always up for argument by the pedantic and jealous.

There is magic in the mountains. Magic at the end of day. And magic when souls come together.

The Bumper Cars took up a lot of space mid-park, marking the edge to the little kid rides where I would wait, still holding my mom's hand...

I am driving and will be driving most of the day. Roads are funny things, connecting things, delivering things, crisscrossing things...

A flock of pigeons startle, flapping and cooing far up and away. Somewhere but not far off, the sound of country music.

Eclipses are, apparently, not uncommon things over the globe...

The dirt road winds from the hill's southern edge, slowly traversing, serpentine, rising higher and higher...

I stand in the darkened gallery before the early 20th century American art, "The Lantern Bearers." The image is luminous, posing more...