Muir said it...Mountains speak and wise men listen
As do mountain streams
The river whispers if you listen
It will call you in
It becomes the focus of your meditation
Absorbed into the river
A simple rise of a golden fish
The constant flow of life
Friday, March 23, 2012
I came to dwell in the wilderness, not as one fleeing or hiding, but that I might realize, in a mature age, a dream of youth. Here, in the wild wood, I have found peace, cleanliness, health of body and mind. Here I can live the natural life, unfettered and unindebted. Here duty itself is pliant to any breath of fancy that may stir the buds of foliage of thought.
The days spent in the Smokies were great. I have been in great need of some mountain time and as always the mountains never fail to deliver good tidings. Since my home in Florida is no where near the mountains it requires an almost epic journey to get there. I am a lover of mountains whether they are found in the east or the west. If I could have favorite local mountains I would I have to claim the Blueridge Mountains. I love the Sierras, Rockies, and Cascades, but the mountains of the southeast sort of feel like home in a way. I am accustomed to their ways and the bluegrass culture that surrounds them. The mountain culture I speak of is composed of beautiful streams with colorful native trout. The ancient character of these mountains is alive with the sounds of bluegrass and a range of beauty from mountain laurel thickets to grassy balds.
|Tenkara Rods near Deep Creek|