The stage is set. All of nature has been waiting with breath held for this, this moment in time, this blink of history. As the sun rises the show begins; grand in entrance, yet quietly dripping with elegance, she pierces through the curtain of foliage like a bugle sounding her battle cry.
Standing at attention with stately brilliance, row upon row of attentive trunks swell their breasts with pride as they lift their branches in unabashed arrogance against the backdrop of the pale sky. “Look here!” they cry. “Gaze upon me!” they plead.
And we do, we cannot look away, our eyes are fixed, our faces set against the sky, pulling the view close, attempting to etch it into our memory with frail focus. For we know that this moment is fleeting. Like a whisper it will come and go. Like the Smoky mist, it will slowly become obscured, crowded out by more pressing persuasions. Perhaps that is part of the lavish lure of it all. So we cast our longing glances, capture, click and sigh knowing that when the curtain closes on the day, we didn’t miss the show–we were part of it.