An Open Letter from Winter
[The awards ceremony was incredible. I was seated with my parents, front row, between U.S. Congressman Price on the right and Caldwell Laureate recipient Marsha White Warren on the left (she earned the highest award for humanities in the state). More about the evening when I get press pictures from NCHC…]
I’m sorry I stole your show this weekend, what with half your leaves still on the trees and all the colors of autumn waving their attention-grabbing hands across the mountains. But as you can see from this photo, we do make a rather nice arrangement together, don’t we?
The head postmaster in Bakersville, who was born and raised in these mountains, says this is the earliest he’s ever seen me blow in. Indeed, I’ve stretched gusts of wind and dustings of snow as far south as Mt. Pisgah and as far north as Roan Mountain this weekend. It’s been a joyride, but rest assured that by Tuesday it’ll be all yours again. I heard you’re shooting for a high of 68 degrees!
At the risk of meddling, don’t you think that’s overdoing it a bit? You’ve got to pass the baton to me at some point. A moderate 56, for instance, might be more appropriate. Even that would be high enough to melt all this snow I’ve given you. I can see it now: the creeks will be humming, the leaves shuffling their percussive beats. You’ll have entire mountain ranges worked up into a frenzied Appalachian choir, just singing your praises.
We’ll meet again, I’m certain of that much. Meantime, I’ve got work to do up north.