Coolness comes to the southern Appalachians in the evening. Just before the sun sets. It is one of my favorite times. Sitting on the front porch, a medium-sized rabbit stares me down. I move slightly and it disappears.
It is a magical time. A blue sky reveals striations pink salmon in color. It is the kind of sunset one might expect in the southwest. Local artists love the light and are eager to capture its essence on canvas.
The mountains here are difficult to paint. There are ripples, scallops and layer after layer of ridge lines. It is hard to differentiate them. Then there is the intonation and detail. An abstract artist is at a loss trying to discern what to illustrate. Like the catacaturist, they ultimately find a way to simply it.
A coolness blows over my neck and back coming from the northeast. The katykids increase their volume. Sounds of children and barking dogs fill the empty spaces. The striations in the sky are lower now.
The day is done. Gone the sun. The night drapes over the ridges. I am grateful for these moments. Sounds. Coolness.
The memories of another glorious day in the Smokies. Stored for a time when it is again quiet and all that is left is the memory. Now. Forever.
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