Song for an Asking To Come

train this was worth sticking their heads out of the windows to see. The Cherokee Indians were squatting in green leaves among the sweet potato fields. The whistle saluted, but they never looked up. They were too busy harvesting their winter s supply of sweet potatoes . As we went into Bryson City, there were no secrets to be shielded from the train riders. They pointed to every outhouse they saw. Someone had built a doghouse for his coonhounds right by the tracks, and the dogs nervously howled as the train went by. Burley tobacco had been stacked in the fields to dry, and it looked like little tepees standing in the sun. Green walnuts had been scavenged and were shriveling up on back doorsteps. Weather-beaten shacks with open doors were peeked into by passing eyes, and allowed the train passengers to see how meager some or the people lived. But even with miserable housing, someone had made the effort to grow beautiful plants in coffee cans and old tires. A legless man was chopping wood as the train passed, and he paused to wave. The passengers sat silent with their thoughts. The train disembarked its passengers at A River Valley A white sky touches white pines, capping both sides of the New River Valley. We reflect each other: Road, Track. Rusty car, Rusty train. River, Everything. We travel with the river, but as older children we have to part; we curve out of the river valley, a river valley older than the Nile. We leave this place to age. -J. J. Cromer Bryson City, and the conductor cautioned that it would be leaving again in one hour. Everyone walked and scouted the town. A few of the passengers hung around the river bridge licking melting ice-cream cones and admiring the black drake with his two white companions. The drake acted as if the Tuckaseegee River was his, and his two female escorts loyally quacked behind him as he swam to and fro on the river. On the trip back, the rhythmic clickclacking of the train lulled the children to sleep. The older adults nodded. It was dusk in Dillsboro. It had been a long afternoon, but I felt renewed. I saw the mountains as I had first seen them years ago. It was still the same. Poverty did exist here, but with a difference. These people loved their mountain land and made do with what little they had. They understood the land and survived as their parents had. They had farms and wilderness preserves as backyards. They had plenty of breathing room and a lot of fresh air. To the Leaf Lookers, their simple way of life was poor, but they endured without material possessions. Their lives were enriched by the mountains , and so was mine on this special excursion. Song for an Asking To Come Flesh enfleshes air Or else flesh dies. The scythe blade's motion Intervenes time. Apples harvest sun And the sun sows light Time under time After time. -Paul Ramsey 66 ...