Today we feature Bill Newby’s poem, “Crossing the Blue Ridge Gap,” one of many diverse literary works in our latest anthology.

Pull up your roots, pack your bags, leave your friends, and move elsewhere. It’s a leap of risk and faith – a journey into a new world. This is what happens “Crossing the Blue Ridge Gap”.

Crossing the Blue Ridge Gap

Heading south, some ten miles out,
the warning signs begin.

Travel Advisory.
Dense Fog Ahead.
Beware of Stopped Vehicles.

It’s a long, slow climb
from northern chill to southern ease,
from months of goodbyes
to the uncertainty of new friendships.

We’ve passed through the gap repeatedly,
anticipating retirement and returning to work,
surveying new neighborhoods and going back home.

The apex has often been clouded with a milky broth
barely stirred by the tail lights ahead –
a fog so thick we’ve needed to slow our advance
to a squinting, tight-knuckled caution.

But yesterday we watched
as the moving van swallowed all our stuff,
and today we crossed the gap
under a crystal clear nightfall.

And as we coasted down the southeastern face,
the valley below and the countryside beyond
shimmered like diamonds
cast across pillows of black velvet,
and the road ahead felt dry and firm.

© Bill Newby

This poem was first published in Hilton Head Island: Time and Tide.