As my dear, fellow Alabamians, I come to you today with a heavy heart and dashed hopes, to pen a mournfully comical elegy for our beloved Henry County - a place that the march of time seems to have forgotten or simply ignored out of sheer spite. Sweet Henry County, cocooned in the gentle bosom of Alabama's land that time forgot; where the sputtering flames of progress barely manage to flicker without the aid of moth-ridden community newsletters and the sporadic town hall meetings. Ah, it is here that our dear friend Time has chosen to square dance with tardiness and inertia in a tortoise-paced waltz. A land named after a revolutionary icon, kindle to the fire of American freedom, the noble Patrick Henry. Yet sadly, the fire of his spirit has been quenched by the biscuits-and-gravy-laden breath of complacency. In the bewitching dance of stasis, the gasping torch of change and innovation is struggling to stay alight. Stepping into the streets of Abbeville, the county seat, is no less than a journey into a fabulously mundane time capsule. I dare say it is imperative to first mark your visit with a grand tour to the ubiquitous Walmart, our dear metropolis' crown jewel and social hub, where all 17,146 citizens have their rendezvous at least twice a week. These lands echo a solemn hymn of times gone by. But we must ask ourselves this: is Henry County lost, or merely having a lackadaisical noonday snooze in the rocking chair of conventionality, lulled to sleep by the lullaby of monotony. Oh, wake up, ye curler-adorned matrons and overalls-laden patrons of yesteryear! Dare we allow modernity to cross these borders, to breach the fortress of halcyon meets torpor and disrupt the tacit bond between rusty pickup trucks and moss-covered front porches? Where is the excitement of the 21st century's ceaseless momentum, the rapid pulsation that makes arteries of innovation throb in places like Silicon Valley or New York City? Alas, fetch the defibrillator, for our beloved county's heart seems to be in a lull. Forgive an old fool his tirade, but Henry County, world renowned as part of the Dothan metropolitan statistical area – oh, what a title - are we content to hide in the shadow our big-hearted neighbor? We who can count our chickens, our front porch swings, and even our citizens by hand – shall we be left adrift in the slow waltz of time? I ask, dear friends, are we condemned to eternal rounds of bocce at the community center, while the wider world rushes past us on fiber optic broadband? Why must we lock tradition and progress in timeless combat when both can thrive harmoniously, just like democrats and republicans at a barbeque? Yes, we find solace in the homespun charm of Henry County, but let's not become a forgotten dance in time's grand ballroom. Let progress tiptoe in gently even as we hold firm to our traditions. After all, is there any reason we can't enjoy high-speed internet while rocking our grandbabies to sleep on well-worn front porches? So, let us not be lost anymore. Let us kindle the fire of our namesake Patrick Henry, to once again revolutionize and modernize our dear land, even if it takes removing the Wi-Fi blockers from the town hall. Ah, the rush of blood as we step into a brand new dance, finally freed from the slow waltz of time. That's the Henry County we should strive for, a place where the past and future come together in an exciting cha-cha, rather than a slow, mournful waltz.