[a poem inspired by the Weekend Wordsmith prompt, Mountains]
The Flatlander
Someone told me the midwest made her feel
as though she were on a map,
with its towns laid out
on grids aligned with the compass points.
I grew up on that great flatness,
giving directions by north and west
and knowing that the weather 3 states west
would be ours in 24 to 36 hours
with nothing in between to slow it down
or stop it.
Where you could see for miles
on a clear day from the top of a tractor.
Where you could see forever
from the top of a big city building.
Where farms were measured in
hundreds of acres,
and where you could interchange
the minutes and miles to things
because 60-mile-an-hour driving
wasn't slowed by traffic or curvy roads.
So when I look up at a mountain
it is not with an off-hand,
taken-for-granted glance.
This flatlander looks up with delight.
Monday, October 22, 2007
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2 comments:
"This flatlander looks up with delight." Oh, I like that! This mountaineer read this whole piece with delight! Thanks.
Thanks, Bonnie. I'm glad you like it.
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