THE BLUE RIDGE
The first day I traveled over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Fancy Gap,Virginia, the fog was so thick that I could only see a few feet in front of me. The mountain actually lays in the arms of the clouds. The truckers who drive the interstate know very well about the wall of white. Deep in the valley is a grave yard of twisted metal that never made it up the mountain…or down, as the case may be. There are even ballads written and sung about the driver’s plight.
This light rain or misty fog spreads throughout the mountains and into the valley below. It waters the mountain laurel and brings beauty to every season that is hard to describe. Because one needs to experience it, I decided to write less tonight and simply give you a taste of what I found to be one of the loveliest places on earth. BOYERWRITES by N.W. Boyer (Click to watch slides…enlarging your page and turning on the sound.)
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