I go among trees and sit still

I do admit: I cried a little bit when I turned the lock on the door of my mountain studio this morning, packed up my car, and drove away from Asheville.  While I'm feeling completely spoiled and grateful that I got to enjoy an 11 day vacation, I am greedy for more time in these places.  This trip was a bit like speed dating 5 different cities, and I want to go out on a second date with all of them.

Wanting to take my leaving slow, I opted to drive north on the Blue Ridge Parkway for a bit rather than the interstate out of Asheville.  I drove for 200 miles on the parkway at 45mph, through fog and sun and torrential rain.  And it was sublime.  Driving that road is like a meditation, a mesmerizing journey through verdant green mountains.  I listened to bluegrass hymns and Barbara Kingsolver's captivating audiobook Flight Behavior, with the windows rolled down and butterflies and birds flitting all around me, and those hours were the best kind of Sunday morning worship I know.

Ingrid loves the Blue Ridge Parkway!

I stopped in at the Blue Ridge Music Center along the way for "Midday Music", a daily afternoon jam for traditional Appalachian Music.  (Mom and Aunts Linda, Becky, Naomi, and Jody, you know this one!)

My meandering route along the Blue Ridge Parkway stretched my travel time to nearly 11 hours, so I arrived wearily back at the treehouse in Virginia, where I spent the first night of my trip.  It is the coziest place, sweet refuge for a tired traveler, and I want to stay in it forever.

I've settled in for the night with my newly purchased Wendell Berry poetry collection and a glass of wine.

Here's a selection that seems apt, on this Labor Day eve:

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
Where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives awhile in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

Over 2200 miles behind me, and about 400 to go tomorrow.  One last Shenandoah sunset.