The Blue Ridge Mountains

It is early on a summer morning, and we are standing on an overlook by the Blue Ridge Highway. A cool wind is blowing the drenching mist up the mountainside, so thick that it hides the valley. The mountains look like so many giants spread out sleeping on the ground, with one thick, green blanket spread over them.

Suddenly we hear a sharp scream above us. We look up and there are five huge buzzards wheeling above our heads. One of them flies to a round-faced cliff in the distance and lands where it probably has its nest.

As we watch, the sun reaches an arm over the horizon and pulls itself up. The mist swiftly rises and we see the city: our home.