… means waking to the hoots of the Great Horned Owl.
Hoo hoo huh-hoo. Hooo… Hoo.
We’re still in Shenandoah, spending mornings underground with stalactites and evenings high up in Skyland. Last night’s sunset was so spectacular that we took our beach chairs out of the trunk, planted them at the Jewell Hollow Overlook, and sat there for an hour.
This wasn’t only about the last moments of a small bright orange sun behind a mountain; it was about the vast wash of blue and pink and white as the sky settled down at half past eight. We were alone except for a man with an easel a few yards out on a path in front of us.
Painting a sunset in the mountains is about as trite, I figure, as sharing a kiss in front of the same sunset. But who’s gonna stop us?