This is my south a land within a land whose inhabitants forever dance between extremes of faked gentility and overt rebelliousness.
My south where I was born but not raised and pulled by the siren songs of my ancestors returned to bury one of them and claim my own burial place Completing ancestral circles.

My south where just below its’ surface a new revolution is brewing as my fourth generation from slavery warns the fifth and sixth generation of the dangers looming before them when they refuse to learn from history.
My south where love and hate are both sides of the same coin and Sunday birds fight each other for preeminence while the poor multiply and the dumb begin to speak.

My south where titans of enterprise attempt to litter the countryside with chemical plants as cancers of body and interests refute the existence of pollution.
My south where opportunities for growth are fraught with ghosts from the past who view life only in stereotypes.

My south feigning growth and change camouflage old dreams of days of gaiety where darkies sang on Sewanee Rivers must now awaken to a more realistic song whose melody is not filled with solemn we shall overcomes but ring out with,
We are here, the time is now as we reclaim our heritage with a new vigor, new talents, new expressions, new directions, and new zeal.

This is my south where we can live and build together or you may leave this ground which has been made sacred by the bones of my ancestors who unlike me, worked, sweated and died unpaid for their sacrifice.
This is my south where I have returned claiming the happiness which was always mine to be here as a new architect with fulfill able dreams

I am Gran Gran, a poetic elder and this is my south.