there are t-shirt places all over the place and cheesy souvenir shops to boot. Want a rubber tomahawk? Branson is your place. Need a fix of over the top hillbilly music? Been there done that. Need to find a place where your money can be systematically extracted as you drive through? It’s just about a half hour south of Springfield, and an easy drive north of Arkansas.
But the mornings. The day and night may belong to the shopkeepers, the singers, the vendors and the faux hillbillies but the morning is still itself, the morning. Birds of all kinds. Quiet all around. Plenty of places to sit and think and pray. The day and night are all about the show that must go on but the mornings are as close to the primeval garden as can be had in easy access to indoor plumbing.
Some day I’ll return but without any ticket to anywhere, just a place to sit, holy books to read, and a prayer rope. Who knows what good could come from a week of such things? Heading north tomorrow I’ll already be working on the plan.
The Beautiful Path 