When I drive through Iowa, my soul gets nostalgic. I was here before and will be sad again when I am gone. My heart is shaped by the plains. The map of my life are the stars I could see in the summer night’s sky. My first loves were an amalgamation of moments that happened to be there; On that land, made by that wind. And when I am gone, I am not really gone. Go, pull back a husk from a stalk of corn and there my heart will be.