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My name is Joseph Edward Ball. I'm a Southern writer. I invite you to take a country walk with me.

You will meet my Aunt Faye, who upset the postmaster when she accidentally shut down the post office for an entire day. Daisy, my long tail liver spot, flap ear, wide grin Government registered Catahoula Hound will tail-tap hello to you.

Come walk with me into green woods, where leafy trees have low voices, tall sycamores reach for the yellow sun, and a lonesome redbird talks to me. Join me with my childhood friend, John Allen Kirkpatrick as we sit on a fallen barky brown log in a whispery forest watching two small leggety beetles take a leisurely stroll.

I will introduce you to my Aunt Edith, who had lipsticky lips, smoked filter cigarettes and opened her own car doors. You will meet my father who spoke little and said much. And I want you to meet my mother, who taught me poetry. She served speckle butter beans and yellow cornbread, but she never served pizza. Sit with me and some sweet little old blue hair berry hat church ladies at a country picnic and I will tell you why to always eat the fried chicken first. And we will sit the iron trestle bridge over the tadpole creek that drank Tommie Jean Wilkins one hot summer day. You will want to meet the consecrated dog and the cow who went to college.

I'm a picture of my past. Come walk with me now and meet my world.