Baker Valley, Oregon

I crested the final hill and gazed
At the valley below. I felt almost
At home as I looked past the fields
And the foothills of sagebrush,
The forested upper ravines,
And the mountains, the ones
In the distance, the highest,
Already enveloped in snow.
I stopped my car and got out.
I looked down at the prim little
Town in which I'd never lived.
I'd been through many times,
And I stayed there on weekends,
Driving up into the mountains
To fish, wishing, as I ate my
Biscuits and gravy in Erma's,
The cafe at Main Street and D,
That I really was home. That
Was never to be. I looked at
The car's clock when I got back
Inside, and I realized I had to
Move on.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 29 times
Written on 2021-11-16 at 20:04

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This, I like very much. How often have I wasted energy and time yearning for things I'll never have, and perhaps didn't need. Move forwards always, less we stagnate.

cities that are born for natural reasons (creeks, hills, rivers...) I think last longer