My Last Trip to the Appalachians

Snow tipped Appalachian trees call every year. The blinding sunlight bouncing back on my face and the harsh cold air are just forgotten with distance traveled. Just love, silence, and wonder register for the day.

Sharing my years of enjoying the trek has always seemed pointless. Companionship here is in solitude, the sights, and the birds. Simply, I just go to live, for as long as the daylight lasts.

Looking past the cliffside the clouds are dark, gloomy, but captivating. More captivating than they have ever been before, captivating enough to stop you. At least for a breath… maybe more than a few breaths. I watch them with a fondness I haven’t had since my first time seeing them.

The light starts to run out, showing the beauty of the night. Dreadfully, I turn and tread back to the beginning. Somehow, I can no longer see the footprints I left on my way here. Zigzagging through the trees I pretend to know where to go. The snow melts in my boots and the fog makes me disoriented. No direction seems to offer its embrace, and no one seems to call out.

The snowflakes start their descent, stopping me in my tracks. It's like they tied a rope around me and took whatever hope there was, somewhere different. Most likely somewhere needed. It gives me immense joy. With a deep breath, I take in the cold and find myself sitting down; it’s quiet and calm. My last trip to the Appalachians.