In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “To Sleep, Perchance to Dream.”

When I perchance to dream I often think of my childhood days spent within the Appalachian mountains.  Many a day was spent in the backseat of my brother’s red 442.  With Larry at the wheel and Vicki beside him, we traveled  a many mountain road.  This poem is about the excitement I felt upon one of those roads:

The Road to Chimney Rock

I remember the road of asphalt and tar,

As girl, I looked from the back seat of a car.

A snaky creature it seemed to be,

Weaving its girth around many  a tree.

Through Appalachia it coiled its way,

Up mountains then down where valleys lay.

The little car would sputter and spit,

But it was determined and would not quit.

Each hairpin curve held promise for me,

A mystery, for sure,

this red head to see.

Maybe a Cherokee with bow and quiver,

Drinking the fruit of a mountain river?

Or maybe a bear, with cubs of two,

Searching for nuts and berries of blue?

It could be a goat chewing his cud,

There by the laurel beginning to bud?

Perhaps a tunnel deep and dark,

Grim and cold, desolate and stark?

Let’s not forget the waterfall too,

Its prisms mirrored in morning’s dew.

And rocky crags on mountains sit,

That plummet into a bottomless pit!

Then it is there for my eyes to behold,

A massif pillar, ancient rock of old.

Into the heavens so high it arose,

I saw through, binoculars atop my nose.

A smokestack it seemed, American flag on top,

This road had led to Chimney Rock.

Now, as a women, I ponder that day,

With fondness of heart, within me lay.

My future, my roads, my paths, my lot,

Enchanted, to be as the road to Chimney Rock.