The world prefers white people in their place—the balance, not necessarily of power, is better off, more comfortably sustained, if when and where white people stay simple and nice, following the plan, in speech dress and food.
  • The black-topped tillers of the verdant flats, their early to bed and rise rhythms punctuated by hoof-cloppings and bicycle bell bings!
  • the northern townspeople's pleasant open-faced approach and firm handshake and Please, with a polite smile to strangers with dark faces, Show us your legumes!
  • squinting through wood smoke, the mountain folk in blue hollows, the rune-casting women who rule them and understand chickens, the eloquence of old shotguns and quilts
  • the seafarers, bronzed to peeling, disinfected by salt, light, solitude.
Our society is what we want to see, sometimes all white faces, sometimes not, what the occasion warrants—
the mining industry of satisfying effects, its vastness.
Cloak, the lapidary white racism made obsolete.