Listening to the sounds of the early morning, I was reminded of a place I lived not too long ago. It was a small town. The rooster down the road echoed every morning. Even though the roads were mostly paved, those of wealth lived on dirt roads. There was no liquer sold on Sundays. There was no liquer ordered on Sundays. But, if you had the right connections, you could find it on many given dirt roads. The train that ran through town stopped almost every hour. The whistle was the sole property of the driver. There were the ones who talked. There were the ones that walked, because by feet was all they knew. Yes, it was a small town. The crops were planted all year round. The cotton. The peaches. The pecans fell off the trees as the wind swayed into the branches. The convenience store, the Barbeque restaurant and the many hair salons were a meeting of the minds. Talk was for the fortunate. Listening was a priviledge. There were the churches, the family owned grocery stores and the big Supermarket down the road. If you were driving east or west, you were driving the other way. And if you were driving north or south, you were from out of town. The parades were official. The heat of the summer had no wind, and the winter wind had no heat. Everyone was a picture of somebody else. Football was played and talked about like it was politics. Because it was. There was the black and red. And there was the other, because it was not the black and red. The potholes in the road were filled with dirt and the potholes in the dirt were filled with rain that turned to roads that only the ones that lived on them could drive. The plain Jane ate the Mary Janes and the ones on the dirt roads owned the plain Janes. It was sad to leave a place of poverty set for life. I guess it's time to watch some football. My colors are not black and red. They are Green and Yellow. GO GREEN BAY PACKERS!