Walk with me around the farm. We’ll catalog auto parts beaten into rust by weather and time and gather enigmatic animal bones eaten clean by beetles.
Together we’ll scout out grandfather’s land, meandering until dusk between tobacco barns and wasted creek beds, compelled by atavistic dread to stick together.
Come, amble with me. Peer into raccoon dens and abandoned wells.
Hold my hand and we’ll send our worries whistling into every hollow, following the old paths of discarded shotgun shells.