There are times in the Smokies so absolutely lovely, so stunningly beautiful, that it’s impossible to take in much less describe it properly. Words fail us, it seems, the closer the subject is to our hearts. Yesterday morning was such a time.
There was only the slightest chill and the air was crisp and clean. A layer of fog suspended above the floor of the Cove hugged the base of the distant mountains running from east to west. Sunlight, after climbing above the rim, painted the tree tops in golden light. Meadow larks appeared everywhere and filled the morning with song. Deer were feeding in almost every field. And there a turkey spread his fan obeying a biological imperative. Another flies across the road just ahead of the car.
From the Carolina side clouds rolled over the Appalachian crest and in dream like slowness made their way downhill. It was a day that all one needed to be satisfied with the world and their place in it was to be alive.