This poem was written in the hillside above the Swiss village of Klosters. As I saw it then, Klosters, more than other surrounding towns had managed to keep stifling development contained. But over the long-run, the character of the village could go either way.

Clearing

For days a tight canopy
Of mist and rain
Compressed the village.
It huddled, compact and intimate,
Fortress and tidy home,
Until sun and sky
Again revealed surrounding peaks,
And cascades of unseen buildings
Spilling down the meadows.
All the while, high over the rooftops,
A bright red crane rotated slowly.
The hand of a clock.
Or an insistent arrow,
Pointing forward and back,
Now at untouched mountains,
Now at its new creations.
And where would it stop?

- Charlie Neff