Monday, February 7, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Mystic Ice On the Blue Ridge
The Blue Ridge Parkway was clear this week
as we have had temps in the mid 30's with an
occasional 42 thrown in (for a few hours.)
The normally thick ice and snow have melted
back to expose this Ridge Top road once again.
The Parkway has a series of huge double gates
that they close (or open) every few miles depending
upon the road conditions...I was delighted to find the
trail to the south (this has some of the best
long views found atop the Appalachians)
open late in this week (past) so I seized
the opportunity to travel as far as
I could to 'spy' good potential photos.
And here they are. The setting sun was
silvery upon the still frozen ice of
Julian Price Lake near Blowing Rock,
elevation about 3850.
...Make sure to note the mystic
series of circles in both photos of the
frozen lake.
How cool is that?
:)
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Wintry Sun
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
An Appalachian Song of Praise

Cymbals tinkling in the distance
Dancing to the night wind
Black sky like velvet, around me
The woods, quiet I can swim in
Big dipper twinkles surrounded
By stars that glitter like gold
There are so many stars in the night sky
In my mind I can touch and to hold
I think not that I will tire nor grow weary
Of mountain glories revealed
A song of praise wells up within me
Each time my soul rests on these hills.
A feast for my wanting mind's eye
is around every turn
up the big hill near the hollow
for you forever I'll yearn.
Pray tell do not forsake me
I pray these hills ever will stand
A testament to the glory of God
all fashioned by His own hand.
Black sky like velvet, around me
The woods, quiet I can swim in
Big dipper twinkles surrounded
By stars that glitter like gold
There are so many stars in the night sky
In my mind I can touch and to hold
I think not that I will tire nor grow weary
Of mountain glories revealed
A song of praise wells up within me
Each time my soul rests on these hills.
A feast for my wanting mind's eye
is around every turn
up the big hill near the hollow
for you forever I'll yearn.
Pray tell do not forsake me
I pray these hills ever will stand
A testament to the glory of God
all fashioned by His own hand.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
sunrise
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Mist Mountain
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
On Letting Go

That You Would Say “I’m Sorry”
***
Words would sooth
the ribbon cuts that you made
by your heartless actions
by your veiled simple cruelties
by your calculated
intent
to pull out all of the underpinnings in my life
and see to
the crafting of my demise.
What drove you to this?
What motivated you?
The vexing nature of this thing
hangs ‘round me as a chain
to this day-
but there are
no words
forthcoming.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
In This House
In This House
Winter solace
by the fire,
her hands warmed by it enough-
this life in the Appalachians was a hard one.
They lived here alone, up high.
by the fire,
her hands warmed by it enough-
this life in the Appalachians was a hard one.
They lived here alone, up high.
The river ran by the house
and constant was the flow of it
down through this valley.
In this house, her hands
moved with grace
to crochet the baby
bonnet that matched
her wee pink cheeks
and clothed her naked head.
A single blond curl
over the infant's brow peeked
through the bonnet her mother fashioned in this house.
An apron sat on a peg near the fire
in this house.
In this house, cooking perfumed the timber
and filled the wood with savory spice.
In this house a man and his wife
made a life
carved out of the mountain’s belly.
Years have passed by
one by one
but the chimney
laid stone by stone
still stands,
a testimony
to the stark beauty
and purpose
of simple mountain living.
and constant was the flow of it
down through this valley.
In this house, her hands
moved with grace
to crochet the baby
bonnet that matched
her wee pink cheeks
and clothed her naked head.
A single blond curl
over the infant's brow peeked
through the bonnet her mother fashioned in this house.
An apron sat on a peg near the fire
in this house.
In this house, cooking perfumed the timber
and filled the wood with savory spice.
In this house a man and his wife
made a life
carved out of the mountain’s belly.
Years have passed by
one by one
but the chimney
laid stone by stone
still stands,
a testimony
to the stark beauty
and purpose
of simple mountain living.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Hair Today - Gone Tomorrow :)
Long Ice Hair
(Higher Elevation...)
I (just) couldn't resist taking one dog
and hiking higher (about a mile up
across the road; circumventing 3 hollows)
to see what it was like yesterday.
The higher elevation I got,
the more prolific was the hair-
ice phenomenon! These are from yesterday
afternoon. Alas, as I was hiking, the
temperature was slowly creeping
upward ( from 20 in the early morning)
and occasionally, the wind would blow
in over the mountains. When it did, I would be
SHOWERED with little ice hairs,
all over my face and person. What was neat
as well was that all over the surface of the
crystal-white snow, there was a carpet of fallen
ice hairs, going this way and that...
forming a most delicate lattice
on the top of the snow.
It was truly unique and very
beautiful in its intricacy. However,
white on white sparkling in
bright white sunlight does
not a good photo make,
unfortunately. :)
...But I wanted you to see it.
By late afternoon, the phenomenon
of the crystal ice hair was all but gone.
Hence, hair today - gone tomorrow.
Enjoy these pics though!
Yours,
louvregirl.
(I may not hike out
today as it is colder,
snowing and blowing
blustery snow.
The woods is once again,
awash in
winter white
powdery
snow.)
:)
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Lois Nancy
This artwork is my mother's. It touches my heart. (So gentle.) A thoughtful depiction of something sweet, tiny, and cute. 'Wa...
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This artwork is my mother's. It touches my heart. (So gentle.) A thoughtful depiction of something sweet, tiny, and cute. 'Wa...
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He broke his stride for me He threw me a rope I threw a rock at his head He was generous It was his nature I pushe...