The World, In Fact, Is Round

   The snow came in early Saturday morning, had stacked up to about two inches by noon, and had melted by late afternoon. It was a typical Southern Appalachian blizzard.

   Days later now, and vestiges remain. Under trees. High on the hilltops. On the side of a ditch. The North facing side of a ditch.

   The melting snow demonstrates better than anything else the importance of orientation, and the difference between having the sun in your face or at your back.

   On the farm, I know where it will linger. Here is home, and I know my directions. The roads are a different story. Especially the mountain roads. They wind and twist and curve and seemingly loop the loop, and you have to go every which way to get South, or even more to get North.

I lose my bearings, knowing only the relative direction of my ultimate destination. I’m oriented again by a ditch with a single side of snow. Or a barn roof: rust on one side and white on the other. The roads get curvy again, and I have no hope of predicting where the sun will set.