come and sit a spell.

I realize how terribly negligent of this space I have been, and for it I sincerely apologize. I also realize that that apology is more for myself, as I don't really know how many people actually missed my writings here--but I do know how much I missed it. Life has happened, and there have been a multitude of other things that I should be doing, or sometimes could be doing, that this lonely blog has gathered metaphorical dust of disuse. I will make no promises because I know that I probably won't be able to keep them, but I do want to be more of a presence here than I have been of late. I suppose I feel that my life isn't nearly as exciting to write about as it was when we were in Edinburgh-- I'm fairly certain those feelings are well-founded, but that doesn't mean that I've naught to write about. 

In these nine (has it truly been that long?) months since we've been home in the mountains I have missed Edinburgh and Scotland tremendously. But those feelings are always tempered with the sheer delight of being home. These mountains never cease to inspire me; they frequently have me pointing and staring at their beauty and mist-shrouded secrecy like a wide-eyed child. Being away, and being away in such a beautifully similar landscape, gave me a new appreciation for the valley in which I live. Black Mountain is surrounded by green-clad peaks that rise and fall on the horizon, valleys deeply shaded in verdant hues, and all familiarly robed in grey mist and low clouds that hug the lines of the glens and shroud the softly rounded mounts. It really is incredible how similar the landscapes between these mountains and many Scottish ones are. It brings a gladness to my heart to know that my ancestors, who undoubtedly loved the familiarity of their own Scottish and Irish landscapes, made it to a place thousands of miles away that looked, felt, and even smelled like home. No wonder they settled here, no wonder the folk cultures between the highlands of Scotland and the highlands of Western North Carolina are so alike.

It's a grey and rainy morning, and I greet it with a knowing smile and a cup of breakfast tea in hand. Good morning, misty mountains. Good morning, soft grey air that hangs just a bit heavier, envelops the senses and smells so sweet. I hope we can continue this quiet rendezvous.