“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing.” Aldous Huxley

I am not amused by this particular silly season. I stomp around the house grumbling about news, politics and people. I am acutely aware of the weeks that have passed without time alone with my best friend. I allow others to hurt my feelings and make me cry like . . . a girl. I shouldn’t feel this weary. It has only been a few days since my day in the mountains. I have mentioned my love for mountains numerous times on this blog. The mountains have never failed me. I feel recharged and unburdened after a trip to the mountains. I should still be high on the inner peace that the mountains offer to visitors.

Staring at the rain, I realized that although I spent the day at Newfound Gap, I never left the pavement. I saw, but did not touch. I failed to step on to the soil, to touch the tender petals and to sit on a rock that is older than time. In my own defense, I felt like the National Park employees were transformed from their usual ‘get out there and enjoy nature’ personalities into yardstick wielding nuns. “You can’t stand here.” The day was great, but it was a trip to the mountains that was unlike any other. The next time we venture into the Smokies, I think I’d like a few dozen less politicians and their security requirements . That trip needs to be soon. Maybe then, I’ll be able to laugh at the silly season.