Portland Parish/ The Blue Mountains

                                                 (from Negro Mountain)



 

She said,



Get your bearings.



No shape in my gap, not



now. From now



on, it goes



without



saying. If



this is allied to “the negro



character” it’s far



from original—I’d only get



to where we came out of the mountains and



hit the sea. And view



the old coast too, from



the road, the route described



by its indentations—“One bay



after another”—until the road turned inland



again. Civilization’s



tattered



in such. Far



be it from me. One’s



close to nothing.



Something,



though, to the coast—



“My affection



hath an unknowne bottome, like the Bay



of Portugall,” some-



one else had been made



to say.