HERE, WHERE I AM: SOLACES
The Great Smoky Mountains Wildflower Pilgrimage renewed body and spirit at the end of April, the one T.S. Eliot called the cruelist month. Although the rain and hail Thursday morning sounded pretty cruel, the rest of the day was gorgeous, as was the day following. We all need to get out on the trails here in our mountains and smell the leafmold, search for the fragile and not so fragile plant life that abounds. Our mountains have been called the vegetation cradle of North America for good reason. We should let it rock us into solace when we need it. Or challenge us to action when we need to wake up.