A horseman high alone as an eagle on the spur of the mountain br over Mirmas Canyon draws rein, looks down br At the bridge-builders, men, trucks, the power-shovels, the teeming br end of the new coast-road at the mountain's base. br He sees the loops of the road go northward, headland beyond br headland, into gray mist over Eraser's Point, br He shakes his fist and makes the gesture of wringing a chicken's br neck, scowls and rides higher. br br I too br Believe that the life of men who ride horses, herders of cattle on br the mountain pasture, plowers of remote br Rock-narrowed farms in poverty and freedom, is a good life. At br the far end of those loops of road br Is what will come and destroy it, a rich and vulgar and bewildered br civilization dying at the core, br A world that is feverishly preparing new wars, peculiarly vicious br ones, and heavier tyrannies, a strangely br Missionary world, road-builder, wind-rider, educator, printer and br picture-maker and broadcaster, br So eager, like an old drunken whore, pathetically eager to impose br the seduction of her fled charms br On all that through ignorance or isolation might have escaped br them. I hope the weathered horseman up yonder br Will die before he knows what this eager world will do to his br children. More tough-minded men br Can repulse an old whore, or cynically accept her drunken kindnesses br for what they are worth, br But the innocent and credulous are soon corrupted. br br Where is our br consolation? Beautiful beyond belief br The heights glimmer in the sliding cloud, the great bronze gorge-cut br sides of the mountain tower up invincibly, br Not the least hurt by this ribbon of road carved on their sea-foot.