Another Day in the Valley

The sky turns grey with
fiery streaks of red,
wood stoves fire up,
smoke rises from chimneys,
a new day dawns.

A train rumbles through the valley,
while the James flows swiftly alongside,
they come more frequently now,
pulling miles of coal cars packed to the brim,
on their way eastward,
replenishing stockpiles in
Richmond and Washington,
preparing for the winter cold,
just as they have
for a hundred years;

it makes you wonder
how much can be left.

In the distance a hawk
soars above Gunter Ridge,
standing naked, bare and exposed,
glistening in the early morning sun,
leaves, three times the size of a mans hand,
cover the nearby ground,
forming a blanket through which the squirrels
scamper to and fro,
deer hunters scour the surrounding forest,
searching for fresh meat and trophies,
hanging the morning kills upside down,
as the blood drips to the ground below;

talking about the ten pointers
that got away.

Everything remains the same,
just as it has for generations,
and you silently think;

why would anybody want it
any other way?
.
.