When you tell me Guys Mills is beautiful, I just want to say,
Honey, yo’ must have eyes like a grasshopper for yo’ sur’
aint never been to Virginia where the mountains run up
one of side of the forest and down the other and where the
curves twist the roads around boulders and across chortling streams,
where hay fields and vineyards border market stands piled with
sweet corn and tomatoes and melons. I don’t blame yo’ if you think
the golden rod colors the swamp lovely, what with the geese flying
over the sumac and a cream moon shining down, there was a moment
to pause. It must be all in perspective, I suppos’.
Must be somethin’ about knowing
Barbara Hudgins that lives in the trailer in the woods with seventeen cats
and first hearin’ then barely seein’ Nick go by on his bike.
Must be more about the peepers and the wide blue sky
fog steaming off the James River hazing an early morning drive
more about Boutetourt and less about peach ice cream and a paycheck.
Are your grasshopper eyes up for grabs?