It is cold outside. I
have the hostel curtain just cracked to see.
It has rained and briefly snowed, now just quiet. The mountains are again ladened with heavy
fog. Townsend has left their streetlight
Christmas snowflakes up and lit like votive offerings to the mountains to bring
it on. I like hopeful optimism. We have milk and bread and plenty of good
coffee. We could winter here. I have always wanted to winter in somewhere
high, clear and chest deep in snow. I
think in every American, no matter how “city slicked”, lies a genuine
pioneer. I have the whole morning off
to sit and wonder, to plan great thoughts and imagine great lore. I imagine coming in from the mountains
walking a horse strapped down with a great buck, food till the March thaw. In the
cove there is my home, smoke bright white coming from the stone chimney
announcing the hearth is warm and Betty long up with coffee and bacon on. (I imagine I have perfect cholesterol) I am all alone with God and He, having put the
entire universe on autopilot, to walk in the cold of the morning with me. I’m carrying on about love and hope and how He
thought up snow and all the while He’s humming a tune I vaguely remember. As we draw close He parts to Paradise and as I
enter the barn to stall my mare it dawns on me, He was humming “How Great Thou
Art.”
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| Carter Shield's Cabin, Cades Cove We hiked up behind here yesterday. |
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