The Line welcomed rain and sun. Seeds germinated in mass graves, between skulls and femurs and broken pick handles, tendrils rose up alongside dog spikes and clavicles, thrust around teak sleepers and tibias, scapulas, vertebrae, fibulas and femurs.

I&#39;m tired of trying to get other people to see into my brain. I&#39;m done.

My mom grew up in Kansas, my dad in Indiana. They had boring childhoods.

I saw how many people were poor and how many kids my age went to school hungry in the morning, which I don&#39;t think most of my contemporaries in racially segregated schools in the South thought very much about at the time.

Written By Charles Kuralt

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