There is a vapor -
a mist - that hangs all
pulled out and wispy
just above the hollers
in these mountains.
It is grey
against the mottled and
purpling slopes of
the Smokies. If
there were not
so many trees
it would be easy
to mistake this place
for the Highlands.
Layer after layer
of mountains call
you back to this soil,
this earth
a place of razor
sharp crenalations
and swooping slopes,
not a bute in sight.
This place,
this foggy earthed
corner of the world
calls you to stand by
her diamond lakes
and breathe the calm
into your moist and
beating body.
Place yourself in
those mountains
and them in you
and listen for
the low glide honking
of the morning geese
and the strains of joy
from the pinkening strands
of predawn sunrise.
It is here.
Morning has found
it's way to these hollers
once again.
Ciao!
TJM+
a mist - that hangs all
pulled out and wispy
just above the hollers
in these mountains.
It is grey
against the mottled and
purpling slopes of
the Smokies. If
there were not
so many trees
it would be easy
to mistake this place
for the Highlands.
Layer after layer
of mountains call
you back to this soil,
this earth
a place of razor
sharp crenalations
and swooping slopes,
not a bute in sight.
This place,
this foggy earthed
corner of the world
calls you to stand by
her diamond lakes
and breathe the calm
into your moist and
beating body.
Place yourself in
those mountains
and them in you
and listen for
the low glide honking
of the morning geese
and the strains of joy
from the pinkening strands
of predawn sunrise.
It is here.
Morning has found
it's way to these hollers
once again.
Ciao!
TJM+
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