Heart of Appalachia
Heart of Appalachia Somewhere nestled in the foothills of some Blue Ridge Mountain town, Live a people, plain and simple, and yet, utterly profound. If you take the silent, sacred, scenic skyline drive, dare to go no faster than a snail's pace thirty-five, One single car may pass you, or maybe even two, don't blink, or you might miss the bliss of a wandering, winding view. Under steel bridges, the oldest river, ironically named the New, beckons those who fish to float adrift in rented paddle canoes. Forests whisper where hikers with their mother nature commune across creek worn paths ascending towards waterfall lagoons. In town, steeples sleep like peeping pearls just lazily a napping while stars and stripes, breeze unfurled, bust bravely a flapping. Down Mainstreet, picket-fenced cottages call to willingly invite to porch swing chats, long lasting into gazing starry nights. Beyond the tiny post of...