Another Day in the Valley

The sky turns grey with

fiery streaks of red,
wood stoves fire up,
smoke rises from chimneys,
as the dawn of a new day
is ready to begin.

A train rumbles through the valley,
with the James flowing swiftly beside,
they come more frequently now,
pulling miles of coal cars packed to the brim,
on their way eastward
to Richmond and Washington,
replenishing stockpiles in
preparation for winter,
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,
which stands exposed, naked and bare,
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 pointer

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?
.
.