My paternal grandparents
own a property in Marcola.
a cute little town
with a lot of character.
The Mohawk Rivers that glistens with silent beauty
like that of a sleeping child.
The long and winding Wendling Road,
which carries me to my destination
when I decide to venture into town.
At my grandparents',
the quantity of bamboo
rivals that of the yellow crabgrass.
The deer travel throughout the place
llike us humans do on roadtrips
and birds belt out the song of Summer.
Marcola, Oregon may be small,
but it is th homeliest place I've ever encountered.


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