When I think of Iowa,

I think of cattle,

I think of the rattle under the road,

driving by humble abodes.

I imagine cornfields,

I imagine barns,

driving by the farms,

I hear the rumble of tractors,

i, the definitive

the only you in the world

i am and you are individual

we are separate

we are absolute masters

of our individual perceived universes.

Marina Green had always been the epitome of normal. She got good grades, but they were nothing phenomenal. She was pretty enough, but no great beauty. She had friends (did one count?), but was nowhere near a social butterfly.

Seeing out onto the entire field and beyond,

Like seeing out onto a battlefield during a war

While being guarded by the tools of ignorance,

Being the catcher like the general of the team.