Reading the Landscape

Don’t lose it—the ink line
of Tussey Mountain’s height

unspools above this valley,
a loose wave of attention

pooling from a pen. It flows out
above corn tassels, branching maples,

edges closer to the road you drive
with every quarter mile. Like

a script style whose spindled lines
and whorls the world left behind,

the mountain holds meaning
at bay, keeps you tracing its outline

flickering behind tulip trees, lost
to the curve of the road

across the valley floor. This country
baffles you. The maze of ridges

drinks attention, masks distance,
hems you in and eludes you. But the road

calls you forward. The ridgeline rises
up to meet you just when you thought it gone.