"Pinkhoneysuckle,"

I want to open up the way for you to understand that my Movie Option Book which has a prologue by my brother, Robert Van Everett has great similarity in tone to, "Grapes of Wrath," and it is written in the manner people expect from me--Within the sheer reality of which all information is born, so it contains a great deal of face, and the historic portion of the loss Agrarian Appalachia had to suffer in mid century which tore our small towns apart leaving empty store fronts, to this day leaves those who lived that country life feeling homeless at times., The blatant truth of sadness in the lives of women and girls echoes into this day, for we were servants to our family, servants in the community, and all at the lowest pay possible. Poverty has always bequeathed a servant class, and souls are able to work with some pride for others until we get out in to the world and realize that we were pathetically used. Not only that, but our Christian brothers and sisters too often failed to open their hearts, for it is as if we were dirty, and our being without was catching--So the only refuge would turn out to be some angel under a hill who realized our fathers had to go north to feed us, and some mothers, my mother was so overwhelmed in her own unspeakable hidden life that children became the parent except to acquiesce if it was time to be whipped--Hard, as if this, in itself eased off her pain. We honored her, for she was nothing to any one but to us. The families who were part of the northern diaspora and who all left still have generations to this day lost in cities where they have never found home. "I call you, said the great fields turned over with new earth," and it is a voice which resounds every spring when it would be time to plant or in the autumn when it is time to gather. People have forgotten the independence, and "Lords," those kings of alcohol, who cook the meth, or who violate the pure girls--These are new sounds, horrible sounds, and they will remain. My mother said, "The world is coming to an end," and she was afraid... It may be, for Revelations, the book of all horrors has told us what would come to pass. We need the loving Deity though, the one who will return, and let us all hear the words of the good mother, "Fear Not." Many Civilizations have come and gone before, but for the sake of the old friends and the loved ones, "Then I want them to rise up first in the sky." I hear the songs of the angels, and their beautiful wings are floating on the sky. Others only see Holocaust, spaceships, wild eyed and scary monsters spearing us in to hell's fire--"Oh, the Holocaust, you say?" I do not know, but I want to fly away with pretty angels, gather pink honeysuckle vines, lay them at the untouchable's feet--That day, I will know for certain what is heaven and what is hell. In The Bible Belt of my youth I asked no questions, and why should I have, for everyone had an answer who was larger and stronger. "Pinkhoneysuckle," I drink your nectar, and we girls knew for certain we would find you in the next spring--On you I can rely, and we became the wedding march up the hill, and you were the day of rapture when our mother shined like the sun.