An Ode To Mountain Mornings
A dispatch from Blue Ridge, Georgia
The light that filtered into the Toccoa River valley last Thursday near Blue Ridge, Georgia, had an apricot, or better yet, peach, vibe to it at sunrise. A soft fog was lifting off the river below, wafting up above Dickey Mountain and dissipating into the dawning blue sky.
It was 59 degrees and perfect. Bird song filled the air and a light dew coated the ground near the edge of the thick woods between the cabin and the river far down slope. An Eastern Phoebe perched on a bare branch, pumping its tail enthusiastically, eager for breakfast. The whole scene was pleasant and welcoming. It felt like submerging into a hot tub after a long day. If there is a better way to be greeted by an early summer day than in the mountains, I am curious.
These early morning starts in Blue Ridge stirred up feelings both of calmness and of strength. A calm determination, if you will. Today is going to happen, the mountain morning proclaims, and there will be trials and tribulations, but also triumphs.
You can handle today.
