Our balletic prairie, The State of Illinois. Illinois, a graceful ballerina, balances; just look at the map. We are surrounded by a bunch of boxy, less lusciously graceful states, in the great fly-over land, the American midwest.
Illinois, as a ballerina, has a hefty derriere; bounded by, and fondled by, the Father of Waters (maybe a bit inappropriate). Illinois is somewhat flat-chested in outline and topography, but that aids the corn growing, which maintains many derriere’s.
Illinois has a most unfortunate abbreviation…Ill, nobody wants to be in “illness”. Ill is the correct description of its’ unbalanced budget and politics, but not Illinoisans. And while noise is the description of our wind in winter, traffic in the Windy City, and garbled logic from our capitol, we actually don’t pronounce the “s” at the end of Illinois. We prefer a more subtle uninflected, even artistic, spoken language (except for Chicago, where a lot of the people live),
The sound of “Illinois” is rather feminine and, considering the amount of feeding it does for the rest of the world, rather appropriate. It is also births the Mother Road, old Rt. 66, which crosses the prairie in a smooth dancer’s diagonal thrust.
High above our often stormy expanse of sky are many jet contrails, temporarily marking travelers from coastal metropolis to coastal metropolis. With no need of maps or electronic guiding voices few know what is below. Those who might wonder often confuse Illinois with Indiana, Iowa, Idaho, Ohio, Omaha, Oklahoma, Oahu, Ottawa, Ottumwa, and Ionia (which isn’t even in North America), but the sounds are similar.
The vasty prairie of Illinois is where the reunion of the emotive anarchists takes place. Our “rivers gently flowing” have watered a number of artists, including ponderers and dancers of svelte, and even passionate, dimensions.
Anachronistic Anarchist by Herb Eaton 