On the ridges 

and north sides 

autumn’s trees 

are just short of perfection. 

One of the last tender winds is blowing

maroon, yellow, 

red, and orange 

leaves asunder. 

Hidden behind Lost Flats 

giant wind turbines are spinning,

at their base

and surrounding them

the strippers are stripping. 

Amazing how many miles of paradise

thirty men can devour 

in a few short years. 

The locals wave to each other on Greenbrier Road. 

The strippers do not. 

Instead they leave litter 

as their mark of passing by. 

At the entrance to the mine 

a sign says: 

            YOU LITTER

          YOU’RE GONE!

—-but as far as one can see 

One thing IS gone:

THE MOUNTAINS. 

One wouldn’t think a Debbie Cake wrapper

Go Mart cup 

or pop bottle 

would warrant termination 

in the expanse of total destruction,  

now would one? 

Just doesn’t seem fair 

or right, does it? 

What a f’n joke. 

Go ahead! Litter like crazy.

Bring your garbage from home, your stained mattresses, spent roofing shingles, garage flotsam

and throw it in the pit

it won’t matter a wit…..

just a little spit

into the howling winds 

of the un sacred mass of destruction

But on this side of the ridge 

Peace prevails 

                              for now. 

    And I remain hidden in it.