Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.
the author on the roan
view of north carolina’s blue ridge mountains from the roan
the roan is thick with visitors. it is the second day of the annual rhododendron festival and thousands of people flock to this beautiful mountain with its fresh breezes and gorgeous views of 4 states.
purple wild columbine
the famous catawba rhododendrons drooping in the hot midday heat
little brown mushrooms
unedited photo of a roan bald the day before; very foggy
hidden forest atop the roan
i came back for you, pink lady slipper.
you were the fairest thing to me on the walk that day. we passed you on the path. there were 4 of you under a fallen log on the trail. you were growing, half hidden there in the shade of that large trunk and when my eye caught you, i felt that i had been given a great gift.
so i came back for you, to closely take in your beauty. to let the simple act of being in your presence nourish me, remind me, inform me. of the beauty that cannot be “had” or “taken” for truly, you exist & enrich my life in your existence. what if every child felt the same?
you are good enough as you are, child. nothing you need. everything you already be. go be.
these are the things flowers teach me. in their fine detail. in their wild, unabashed beauty. perhaps no one will see them as long as they exist, but they go on being (beautiful, wild, unabashed) just the same.
the book says that you
are rare. rare or shmare you sure
are lovely and fair
hidden orchid so
fair resting there beneath my
gaze could last for days