The best and most beautiful things in the world
cannot be seen or even touched –
they must be felt with the heart.

[Hellen Keller]

Smoky Mountain
Photo by James E. Miller

Green. Sometimes even the air is green especially when a mist rises from the vegetation after a rain on a hot summer day. Green becomes a canvas for the ruby trillium and the shy orchid that hides beneath the fern. Evergreen stands counterpoint to the bright deciduous colors on an autumn day, and is often the only bright color left behind when snow blankets the mountain side. Green wraps its protective arms around me. It washes my face and soothes away my pain.

Blue. In some light, one mountain range folds into another in varying shades of blue like ocean waves on the incoming tide. Sometimes clouds are blue and fool the eye into thinking they are yet another mountain range. The sky shares its reflected blue with the brook as jays and bachelor buttons borrow a bit of color for themselves.

Yellows, oranges and reds start tiny in the spring as wild flowers then multiply as the warm season passes into the time of ripe corn and changing leaves. They burst full blown at sunrise and sunset. Green and blue play backup to them as they have their moments on the stage.

If I were blind, I’d love it just as much. This place I lived for so short a time felt like home the moment I arrived, cradled me through joy and sorrow, and calls me back when I need to let my soul catch up with my body. I can close my eyes and see the double rainbow arch from one mountain peak to another like a handle that God could use to lift us into heaven.

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