Doughton State Park, Blue Ridge Parkway, North Carolina 13.10.94: Webs of Rain, Calling Crows

Writing this in the mountains, at Bluff’s Lodge in Doughton State Park, off the Blue Ridge Parkway, where Steve and I drove yesterday afternoon. We’ll stay till Sunday morning.

Outside, fine misty rain driving in luminous webs across the hilltops. A crow calling in the distance, but hidden by the rain, which is at times so dense one can see only shadows of shrubbery through it.

I love such mystic landscapes. They speak to some need deep in my soul for cold, for rain, for high places and cozy fires. Perhaps I am at heart the Celt who grew fond of those fringes of Northern Europe to which he was pushed by waves of dispossession.

All this sounds so blithe and bonny. But I’m not—not in my heart of hearts. Far from it.