The worst game of word association, the kind that makes you homesick for a place you’ve never lived, but only spent a short time exploring, toska, longing, loss… Racing the battery–which one of you will run out first? Felt the connection with the boy who remembered Pisgah, and the small connection of people who know what Pisgah means, and oh it means so much to us. My heart, it hurts to recall the glassy lake under the gray clouds, the green mountains in the background like some perfect Southern setting–how dare it be so charming? Pisgah, I’ll hide under your arbors, your long limber limbs, your shadowed scarf of green, give it to me. It hurts, not being able to breathe your fresh mountain air, to stand taller than all the flatland of Indiana, your black bears–your silent doe! They’re all hiding with me. We’re all falling asleep under the drone of cicada, all finding ways to keep Blue Ridge morning dew off our bodies, our paws and tails. It doesn’t matter the winds are blowing so hard, the rain is heaving and loud. But then there’s morning, the light melting the dark. The color melting the traffic, the coffee tasting like the loam of the peaks hugging the small city, so soft and comforting…so far.