A Sense of Place

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Written by Gritfish

On a cold and crisp New England breeze,
Snow crystals sparkled through the trees.
Two young skiers shared a chair:
Chance acquaintance in midair.
"How rustic, simple, plain and droll,
In short, an unsophisticated soul":
I thus judged myself to be better,
College-schooled in art and letter.

Craggy outcrops amid the forest
Punctuated the slope below us
And in the valley far below: 
Potato farms beneath the snow.
"A picture postcard sight," thought I,
But what a bleak economy."
"How do the people who live here
Endure an entire lackluster year?"
No rush or bustle, no city clamor;
No egotistic quest for glamour.

"What do the people who live here do?
There's nada here but a pretty view!"
The local youth had this advice to give:
"Well, out here", he said, "we just live."

Mobility demeans the importance of the local
And sophistication makes us dumb but vocal.
Contentment and a sense of place
Have been lost in glamour's race.
Here and there we dash and fly,
Devoid of that serenity
That comes with knowledge of the land
And of the still point close at hand.

   Gritfish
   ©2004

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