The gently winding river,

Drunk by the spear-point lake,

Emerges from its base,

As a deep, haft of blue,

Widening, deepening, warding the hump-backed mountains—

Peaks rising into the white-misted blue.

Southwest the resurrected river flows,

Past a moon-mirror lake,

Away from the vary-greened lands were man scratches for food,

Leaving a geometric garden—traced in, circles, squares, rectangles and deep green swirls—in its wake.

The garden spreads to the banks of a lesser river, snaking northward.

Past a many-fingered lake.

-Viewed from 34,000 Feet from the window above the right engine of a Boeing 737