This is the time of year I typically pack up a camera or two, convince Camille to leave her chair, and head on into the mountains for some nature time. I like Flat Top, part of the Peaks of Otter along the Blue Ridge Parkway. The air up there is not at all heavy and humid, very fresh. The gnats that plague here in the city (sparking something not-so-affectionately called The Lynchburg Wave) do not make it up to the mountains. Butterflies do. Birds do (especially hawks).
The streams that bubble along up there lend a pleasant break to the hushed majesty of a mountain forest cathedral. There are places where you can look out over humanity without seeing boundary lines, without hearing angry discourse, without the blare of society’s existence. You can think up there, explore – sometimes without seeing another soul.
I love my trips up to Flat Top because I always return to my life refreshed and relaxed and ready for more of the curve balls that seem to approach more and more frequently and quickly these days. It’s a great experience, but don’t take MY word for it. Peaks of Otter.