Plano in Texas

I am Texas, and this is Plano not the glittering skyline, not the neon-lit strip, but the quiet, gritty, real heart where the skys gray and the grass is stubbornly green. Im the land that holds the school buses, their yellow paint like childhood dreams, parked beside the asphalt where kids once ran. Im the ground beneath the cars the silver sedan, the pickup, the ones that carry lives, not just metal. Im the fence, the trees, the faint smell of rain and oil, the way the clouds press low like secrets. This is where the future is built not just in the planes gliding over the hangars, but in the hands that fix them, the minds that design them, the hearts that chase them. Im the place where a childs laugh echoes across a field, and where the sky doesnt just open it holds you. I am Plano. I am Texas. I am the quiet before the storm, the ground that holds everything even the dreams that fly.

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