Carol, just write...
How do you feel?
I feel brain rot...
Again...
Like there is a lack of substance in my gray matter.
Why? How?
What can I do about it?
I've spent too much time this week with the machine.
The little palm-sized digital screen.
I scroll.
Political news, cultural news, nature news.
Opinions, opinions, opinions.
But I seldom engage.
I know why I get sucked in.
I spend most my days alone.
Inside my brick-and-mortar dwelling.
I can't get out like I once did.
My body and brain are fatigued.
Pain is a daily companion.
Along with cognitive static.
But Carol, you got out this past Thursday.
You visited your beloved Mountains.
You witnessed Nature's majesty.
Her messages, Her breezes.
You communed with trees and rocks.
And you talked with other Humans.
From Florida, Ohio, Massachusetts, North Carolina.
And you hiked that short quarter-mile section of Tanawha Trail.
At the Rough Ridge Overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway near Grandfather Mountain.
You weighed the risks and went for it.
You were amazed you were able to do it.
To hike the half-mile round trip with its belly-sized rocks.
It was hard.
It was technical.
But you did it, Carol.
You did it!
Though I wasn't rock climbing...
I had to hike it with a rock climber's precision.
Trusting my Vibram-soled hiking shoes.
Placing my feet strategically, checking for any slick spots on the rocks.
Trusting my trekking poles.
Checking the stability of the ground to make sure it wasn't soft peat.
Weight-bearing trekking poles push through peat.
A recipe for a fall.
Yes, you long to hike the entire 13.5-mile trail.
But you didn't discover this trail.
Until after the poisoning.
Until after the injury.
Until after the disability.
Accept, accept, accept...
Adapt, adapt, adapt...
Like premature aging...
It goes on and on and on...
Until, one day, it will be done.
Grieve the losses...
Embrace the memories...
Recall the many, oh-so-many, stories...
Feel gratitude for what you still can do...
Be open for what might be possible.
Grief and gratitude...
Each is a necessity...
But I refuse anymore to gloss over the grief.
I wonder, How long I will heed that refusal?
And you walked the short, level trail from Yonahlossee Overlook.
A pleasant walk that parallels the Blue Ridge Parkway.
And leads to the underside of Linn Cove Viaduct.
And there, in the distance...
A gigantic, white, fluffy cloud standing above the mile-high mountain tops...
Like a giant, friendly ghost with a long, flowing white robe...
His right hand extending out over the mountain peaks...
Heralding, "Behold!"
And that I did...
And I wondered...
Is Benton Mckay in that cloud?
Grandma Gatewood, and Hugh Morton?
Dad, and my friends Joy and Susan?
And others who have loved these mountains...
Who have passed from this physical life.
Do I believe the dead are alive?
I'm open to the idea.
If so, do the living-dead speak to us in signs and dreams?
Whether or not it is so...
Messages still come through...
If we listen, if we look...
If we take the time to see.
One thing for sure...
These mountains...
They live on and on and on and on...
In Cherokee Tanawha means Fabulous Hawk or Eagle.
Yonahlossee means Trail of the Bear.
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| "Behold!" |
