Though cliche it may sound, sometimes words, at least my words, aren’t big enough or rich enough to capture certain moments in time. This is true of my past weekend in the mountains. I felt as if I encountered wave after wave of joy and beauty, all in the company of some very dear friends.

This is a season of transition and parting ways–and I feel at times like my heart will crack into a million tiny pieces from the sadness that comes with this reality. But recognizing that these times won’t always be makes them all the more precious, and all the more worth recording.


A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

 Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

 Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,

 Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkn’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall

From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills

That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s  brink.

Poem by John Keats & Images taken at a vineyard in Polk County, NC


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