From the roof of the house
(at a 12-point pitch)
        look west and upriver
          
    past the northernmost tip
                        of the farthest bank.

Just over the rise,
        that’s the stone quarry.

You can see it from here:
            a bald patch of machined earth 
            alongside the river
            built in the thirties
            amid pledges of progress:
            scarce jobs in lean times.

Look east - 
      in the opposite direction
      follow the S-curve downriver
      past the poured concrete bridge

                        beyond the bluff at Bremo.

You can see the scrubber stacks from here
        planted in the bed of the James
one of seven coal-fired plants
grand-fathered, built when the power came

electric light
                for a heartsick south.
 

Look west again-
        toward the mountains  directly across
        where the land is open and rolls,
        an old and truly blue ridge
                        serves for backdrop.

This has always been the finest land.

        This land
            (the best and most desired land)
            made fruitful by abundant flood.
            Settled by people from Tidewater
            whose played-out soils pressed them
                        to the western edge of the world.
 

These people built the very best.

The lodge came first,
            then the fine place made:
                        Palladian stucco over red brick.

Four thousand acres
of the loveliest richest land; 
                still in the same hands.

Gazing out and across from our place
thought beautiful in our times:

            hollows, ravines, streams that run
through all seasons 
            (but few flat spots

for hopeful farming).

Glance in any direction.
        You can see it clear from here -

                    flanked by insecure 
                                        changeable
            borders.

Hands-down,
       the river is the wonder.

 Spreading leisurely up and out                           
        over the first bank     and then the second,
        clearing the way
                for temporary settlements;
                reflecting ponds on low ground.

 This red River at flood stage:
                carrying away trees and tires
                and fences and cows and cars,
                and people and all
                their cheerful projects.

 Sweeping aside everything,

            without asking permission.