Traveling the Russian River
turning the wrong way,
I drove through a tunnel of trees
where there was no sight of day;
The darkness was pronounced
like the far side of the Moon,
Driving with my headlights
as if at night but really it was noon;
I wandered into a village
like a French fairytale,
Its name was Continental
Where French is spoken and English fails;
No map can find this village
no phones were we to find,
But a ranger of this forest
gave directions where I was blind;
It lead me back to sunshine
which brightened more than my day,
He told me of the loggers
and how the town became;
A hundred years has past for us
but the past is the present for them,
For their beauty is with Nature
and they are always its friend;
The way I came to be rescued
is a citizen came to see,
Why a dirty old machine
has invaded their forest of trees;
So I turned the way he told me
and found the river fine,
But, I wonder about the village
that seems to live out of time.
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