I cycled into Alabama yesterday. That sounds kind of impressive, but I drove over to the Esom Hill trailhead, and that turns out to be a half mile from the border. I’m writing a piece on the Silver Comet Trail, and yesterday seemed like the kind of perfect autumn day to take some pictures.
I’ve lived in the South for nearly thirty years, but have only seen cotton fields wizz by at seventy-five miles an hour. I saw this one and had to get off the trail and take it in. I can’t think of another sight that makes me feel more like a foreigner than a cotton field. It’s really lovely, though the history is fraught. It makes me miss snow.