Corbyn Snodgrass joins editor-in-chief Joshua Heston and co-host Ethan Grubaugh to discuss the nuances of local Ozarks.

A thousand moments — childhood moments — of mud and sun and rain, warm in the afternoon. Of a million greens in the timber behind the barn (and you thought there was just one green in the crayon box…) —

Of ice tea super sweet and homemade angel food cake with seven-minute frosting.

Of a thousand hoped-for futures, of a bright tomorrow.

Of cinnamon-sugar donuts to help the local rescue chapter — and glazed sugar donuts in the freezer case ‘cause we stayed up all night to watch for Halley’s comet.

We didn’t see the comet but we found the donuts.

The sun, setting, is higher up on the trees. There are no wrens this summer. Like the wrens, there was a soul here — the soul, really — which has winged elsewhere.

And I am sad, but no longer hopeless.

There are futures yet. Bright tomorrows again. A somber freight train thunders in the distance, echoing sound of my childhood. And a crow calls, startled, angry wings pushing into the distance.

The moon brightens. It’s only half-past ‘till home.