The Native Iowan

I live in a land where magic still thrives. I live in a land where people understand magic and know it is real. I live in a land where the faces of the people tell me that magic is indeed real.

Faces from the land where I live…

Her nose had dropped. Lips fallen into each other. Her chin is yet firm. Her smile still strong and sweet. Nut-brown eyes shine with joy and mischief. Her smile enhances the numerous wrinkles in the sand brown skin. Snow-white head of hair is thick and well cared for. It falls to her shoulders.

He stands erect. White hair belies the strength of youth. Firm, forward pointed chin held high above barreled chest. Burnt chocolate colored skin tight and smooth. No ready smile on the thin lips but a noticeable twinkle in his coals for eyes. Well-groomed white goatee. Broad shoulders and proud bearing. Still a ladies man.

His child’s out of proportion head. Dominated by piercing back eyes. Knowingly look straight into my own. Dark drown skin with a reddish tint. Smooth, baby skinned face. Shag of sun bleached straight hair. His mouth opened as if to express a question. Quizzical and alert. Alive and aware. The eyes dart to and fro.

A mass of golden curls. Above a mahogany colored face. Short nose. Bowed lips. Shiny white teeth. Perpetually smiling. She toddles to the road. To watch my truck pass. She smiles for pure delight. Hand motoring up and down. Shining black eyes smile as much as the lips. I can’t help but wave back.

Adolescence has made her shy. Her wiry black hair has been wove into beautiful plaits. She stands erect. She acts as though she’d like to avert her eyes. But the bucket she caries on her head stops such movement. I stare straight at her. Make a monkeys face and smile. Her glossy black face beams.