(June 2023. After leaving Asheville, took the long way southwest along the Blue Ridge Parkway, one of America’s best drives east of the Mississippi. Stopped at a nice pulloff view point and wrote this on top of my bus. Nice simple Whitmanic poem.)
Blue Ridge
Rich is this new land, green the color of abundance.
There is not a surface insight uncovered of living
Breathers, lovers of light and obsessive rains.
The peoples of the world could live good lives here,
Folded into verdant hollows overflowing with blessings
Soft and understanding like these oldest mountains
Well worn with the ways of this wild world
Watery and relinquishing of all rockiness
A waving shape which will approach but never reach
The limit of acceptance.
Green bleeds into blue along my edgeless vision
Seamlessly, greenblue shading into infinite distance as
A westward fog of continental possibilities, contingent & contiguous
With the mystery of myself.
Beatin' Paths ~~~ The journey to the Great American Novel 