CLARKSBURG, W.Va. – Since becoming a naturalist in our wooded back yard when I was seven-years-old, the blue of the sky, the greens of the tree canopy, the rocks and rapids of the creek, a soft summer rain, spring, ponds, and the birds in the trees have called to me. It isn’t surprising then I suppose, that a few years ago I picked up painting folk or “primitive” art of the memories and scenes I’ve experienced growing up and during my time traveling throughout the mountains of Central and Southern Appalachia.

Indeed, the Appalachians have inspired me to write a few poems as well, including the one below, which was written several years ago. I did not intend for the poem to go with the painting. But why not?

Merely a Visitor

Our home is next door neighbor

to the forest.

The slope of the steep, wooded ridge

ends abruptly, steps away.

As dark slowly descends,

the night creatures peer in.

First the bats swoop in –

treetop level, scooping bugs –

mosquitoes we hope.

The tree frogs and owls

offer the opening sounds.

The rustling of leaves up the ridge

remains a mystery.

The coyotes scream a warning

to the deer from ridge to ridge.

The owls hoot and screech;

such a racket is rarely heard.

Except here.

It is dusk in Appalachia.

The creatures declare:

here, you are merely a visitor.

© Michael M. Barrick, 2026.