#ohiomade

Ohio wristlets are getting finishing touches for @ohiomadeevents next weekend! Will you be there?

Shop kuddlebumz.etsy.com or in person at The Original Casino Show 🤩

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Ohio. It is a place once ancient, now young. It should have been a place untouched, where the forests ran deep, forsaken of fire, drought and change. Its now cloven roots would have run deep, its polluted waters clear and bright. It remembers that.

It is waiting, waiting, remembering. The young trees stand silent and deep, dreaming of what the depths of the soil felt like, what it was to stand tall and strong and ancient. The silence thrums like waiting, the depth of the forests feels like time.

Ancient names fall from foreign tongues like memories. Chippewa, Wapakoneta, Chillicothe, Cuyahoga, Tuscarawas. Their meanings are empty now, but they sound familiar, the land seems to know them.

The cities sprawl in disarray, rot clings to the waterfront of the sluggish Erie. Cleveland waxes and wanes like the moon, dying, dying, reviving. Columbus is a firmament, the guard between the rusted north and the wild south. It stands proud, ignoring how it's skyscrapers are like walls against the trees, the fields the moats that keep the waiting out. It stands tall, it does not look behind, at the mountains that loom taller.

The cities are the symbols of the ignorant. The farms know the war they fight. The corn is ordered, ranked, as if to insult the wild that wishes to make claim. And even then the fields, those moats, are not entirely civil. Things lurk within that are watching, worrying the boundaries between order and wild. It is a quiet war at the borders, the enemy knows the way in.

And the south, the wilds are bolder there, less patient. The trees stoop to brush the backs of the coyote, their last tool against the divorce of predator from prey. The forests crowd what towns there are, pressing at the rust, drinking up their water. They lean forward, blotting out the sun, strangling the houses which cower beneath.