It is a late summer’s night and the place is the top of a mountain. The entire summit is nearly devoid of trees and covered with grass, sweet fern, and mountain laurel.
Time is the end of a mellow day; hot in the sunlight hours, cool in the evening and through the night, caressed with sweet breezes night and day.
Sound is the night talk of birds singing their swan songs for the day’s end; the chirping of sparrows, the Toe-wee of the towhees and the solo song of the warblers.
There is an occasional rustle in the nearby woods caused by the funny-faced raccoon and black bear.
Movement is an occasional white-tailed deer browsing
carefully in the open fields, and the flutter of moths on the wing between us and the moon
glow highlighted by the cosmic glow of the universe beyond.
Devoid of artificial light and sounds of human kind interference a primitive joy fills us in the closing moments of this Appalachian Mountain Country Day.
Primary sound is silence that is so intense it presses itself against the eardrums pleading to be heard and felt and appreciated.
A special vision is of a few scattered pine trees which stand stark and bold and brave silhouetted against the deepening twilight sky.
A quiet wind caresses the heart of we who feel the essence of this comparable mountain country day.
The gleam of the fast setting sun reflects off the eyes of the Mountain Princess who gazes transfixed at that heavenly body.
The first star appears out of the gathering darkness, then another, followed quickly by a myriad of others reminding the earthly sky watchers that the stars are responsible for that cosmic glow which enables us to always see above and beyond this terrestrial place into celestial relevance.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published August 31, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.