January 31
by Jayne Beske

Within the rolling countryside of northern Georgia land,

Interwoven among farms, tall southern pine groves stand.
The mountains rise majestically, create a distant view
In misty shades of purple, gray and greens of every hue.

Hazy peaks form waves as far as the eye can see.
Eagles soaring overhead convey tranquility.
They are a mere reminder, if we pause for just a minute,
Of the magnitude of God’s great world and everything that’s in it.

Deep within the forest, soft, green fern protect the ground
And twisting roots of trees and laurel keep it firmly bound.
High ridges and crevasses transverse the rough terrain.
Waterfalls and rippling creeks move swiftly, swollen with fresh rain.

Indians lived in these hills before the white man came.
Then settlers moved throughout the land to occupy their claim.
Rich history embraced these hills, and remnants linger still,
Of homesteads, and tales of a people with a strong zeal.

Gold mining was alluring and settlers left behind
Log cabins, mills, moonshine stills, and quarries not yet mined.
As you walk along the trails, remembering how life grew,
Gather up the richness that these foothills bring to you.

Jayne Beske
June 2002

Read about Jayne Beske on the Writer’s Bio page