Change is more apparent during the month of May in Appalachian Mountain Country than any other time of the year.
The sky is more often blue now that clouds have changed from the usual dense, gray, total cover to individual puffs, wisps and streaks.
The vista-view of tree-covered hills have changed from dull gray through shinning silver and frosty rime, blushing pink and flushy chartreuse to living, vivid and virile green.
Wildlife responds to the change as they shake off the shackles of hibernation. They allow themselves to be seen more often and they are not as easily frightened away by our presence.
The wintering chickadees and blue jays are much more open and friendly. The migrant birds are back and busy. Bright, multi-colored flashes of oriole, tanager, cardinal, bunting warblers, and blue birds light up the air spaces like mobile flower garden.
A soft wind touches the charged air.
A fragrance floats in on the light breeze.
Dewdrops hang like prisms reflecting back the woodlands out of shade and shadow. An especially bright one captures the magic and meaning of Mountain Country’s season and reason, holds it to it’s heart for a moment, then sets it free.
There is an enchanting quality to this ingredient which envelopes all of Appalachian Mountain Country Earth. It fills the space not already occupied by flora and fauna, it permeates all that is not already form, color, sound and movement.
It is the golden-crowned, bluet-eyed, azalea-pinked cheeked Princess of the Mountains, delicate and delightful in the month of May and for all times.
She dances over the Springtime’s forest floor, fields and meadows. A kaleidoscope confetti of bleeding hearts, trefoil and grass, bluets, wild geraniums and violets stream from the tips of her fingers and toes.
With her comes a soft pinkness extracted from the pastel pigments of the most beautiful of Mountain Country sunrises and sunsets.
To touch this pretty pink creation is to quicken the pulse that catches in one’s throat. To breath her hauntingly sweet aroma is to be enchanted by the mystery of that which love has always been, is and ever will be. To be in her presence is to be captured by all that is bright and beautiful, loving and lovable, soft and feminine and physically precious.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published May 25, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.