I asked Fresh Ground if he gets tired of the repetitive set up and take down. “No,” he said.

After its rain bands passed, opening the sky to sunshine, the air pressure gradient arrived. Winds began whipping at the alpaca farm

I emerged from the Mount Rogers region into the broadest valley the trail has thus far crossed, for the first time descending from to farm and plain. This final descent wiggled through a lovely tunnel of rhododendron alongside a tumbling creek, a particularly Virginian feeling. A different creek on the eastern drainage of today’s ridge...

A profit in the short term pads the coffer, but only in the long run will we prosper

The second poem in my Mount Rogers/Grayson Highlands series was inspired by an accumulation of nighttime memories from the trail. Night in the outdoors carries a certain restlessness, an unpredictability, insecurity. Simultaneously, it is a luxurious time of rest, peace, and satisfaction. With the limitation of sight, the other senses heighten their awareness. Early this...

The sky wrestles with restless uncertainty

The Mount Rogers region pushed my mind in a poetic direction, so I present one poem for each day in these quiet highlands of southern Virginia.

Fast acquaintance / slow friend

People often ask if I’m hiking the trail alone. "No," I always respond. I am not hiking alone but rather, independently.