Paved road rolled into a gravelly path. My feet crunched and curled on the rocks beneath me. Nature unfolded on either side of me; the trees in the forest surrounding the path formed a roof above me, blocking out all but a few threads of sunlight. The light danced across the gravel and onto my body, twisting as it left its imprints on my clothes.
Rustling leaves signified the presence of squirrels, or perhaps something larger like a deer, on the woods to my right. The chirps and calls of invisible birds perched above me reached my ears. Different species sang different tunes, but their songs intertwined with each others like branches on a gnarled tree. With every step I took, the stony path let out a scratchy note. A symphony of the dead leaves, bird song, and my own feet crunching on the path wove its way to my ears, inducting myself into a part of the music of the forest.
When I reached the lookout, the road opened up into a cul de sac, and the trees bellowed out to make room for the parking lot. My eyes traveled down the steep hill before me. Southern Tennessee filled every inch of my gaze. Trees, like seams on a quilt, threaded themselves around yellow and green fields. Cows grazed in the middle of the quilt, herded into a green patch by the surrounding trees. Hazy blue mountains on the horizon held up their hands to reach the pastel blue of the sky. Their fingertips grazed the bottoms of the clouds hanging motionless above them. The sunlight touched every inch of the land below me, bathing the fields in gold water.
I inhaled the cotton candy air through my nostrils. The husky scent of the forest rode on the edges of the sweet molecules wafting into my nose. There was no trace of this saccharine air in Pennsylvania. My mind traveled back to my home in PA for a moment, remembering the smell of polluted city air; the smoky stench of car exhaust. The fields of Amish farms were perfumed with manure most of the summer. My nose wrinkling in disgust, my thoughts returned to the mountain. I didn’t want to lose any of my precious time here thinking about my other home.
Since the stone bench where I was planning to sit was occupied by two old men, I crossed over to the other side of the hill and plopped down next to a reddish sandstone rock. The grass pressed against my skin, leaving its imprints on my thighs and calves. I moved to sit on the red rock beside me. Looking across the view again, even though it hadn't changed in the slightest, the beauty of it hit my lungs and stole the breath from them.
A path speckled with sunlight lead into the forest to my left. The path’s entrance was sprinkled with sand, remnants of an ancient sea that once swam upon this mountain. It’s difficult to imagine that water could have swallowed this mountain; it seems too tall, too wide. As I looked down the path, I thought that it might be fun to take an adventure on the trail by myself, to explore the entrails of the mountain I was so amazed by at the lookout. But then I saw a spider dangling from a tree branch, and I decided I would prefer to watch the view again rather than take the risk of making friends with spiders.
I perched myself back down on the red rock, and looked out to the horizon. Sloping up from the yellow and green fields was a continuation of the mountain I sat on. The mountain surrounded the fields like a fortress. The clouds above cast shadows on the trees. I felt small, yet empowered. I have never seen any place more beautiful. It was plain; only farm lands. But the view from the mountain gave me the opportunity to look at something ordinary in an extraordinary way.
I knew eventually I would have to leave the lookout and go home, but for now I could remain in the grass and make friends with the ants crawling up my legs. No expectations, commitments or anxieties ran through my mind. The ants tickled my skin with their microscopic feet. The sun caressed my face like a lover’s hand, spreading warmth throughout my body. I must have sat on that hill for at least an hour, gazing, pondering, wondering at the beauty of simplicity.