Bluebird, Bluebird (Highway 59, #1)

by Attica Locke

red dirt

red dirt

rust-red, East Texas dirt

red-dirt

The belief that they were special, that they had the stones to endure what others couldn’t, was the most quintessentially Texas thing about them. It was an arrogance born of genuine fortitude and a streak of hardheadedness six generations deep, a Homeric shield against the petty jealousies and lethal injustices that so occupied white folks’ free time, their oppressive and intrusive gaze into every aspect of black life—from what you eat to who you marry to the clothes you wear to the music you play to the way you wear your hair to how you address them on the street.

“The nobility is in the fight, son, in all things.”

red dirt,

red dirt

One thing I have definitely learned about East Texas from this book that they have red dirt there. How many times will this get mentioned?

red clouds of dirt

red dirt

red dirt

red dirt

red dust

red dust.