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times made little noisy waterfalls appeared then disappeared among the stones and boulders. The bodied of once mighty towering trees now laid rotting on their sides and backs, broken, splintered and dead. In their places were struggling young varieties. The colors yet remaining on the trees were as paints from as artist’s palate, already applied to their canvas, some and most spilled, as it were and carpeted the ground. Some spiraling down at the hint of a breeze, others skinny dipping in the pools of water, while others clung to their mothers shivering.
I commented on the change of the course of the trail. Some years previous you picked your way mostly. Now, after nature’s hard hand the path varied considerably. Thanks to the trail blazers and keepers who had “built” the stone steps or stairs that afforded us an easier climb, than years ago. Stopping more often now to breathe the thinner air, or at least rest the throbbing heart. We were resting at the top of a big boulder for awhile just taking in the view now below us. Able to see the ridges across the hollow, namely the hump of the mighty and familiar Pignut and Old Rag of a pale blue beyond. Below us was one of the larger pools of water and in it we saw several fish, we guessed were brook trout. Then a grey squirrel appeared flitting his furry tail then away at the sound of other approaching hikers. We noted that the wind wasn’t blowing as strongly here and that the ferns were still very green, also a few white violas were in bloom. We noted red bud and coffee wood trees and many paw paw.
By now we were nearly at the top. My concern was going back. Knowing Dorothy had a bad back and that she didn’t have very good hiking shoes I
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