I washed off the wilderness but not the wildness, the dirt that untamed my soul.
We pressed through thorn and spiderweb, darkness and rain, to the palace and to the feast, as any lumpy bed and paltry meal would be for such weary wanderers as we.
We swam through the green, roots and rotting logs our steps into the clouds. The sunset found us on quartz boulders, Shining Rock in the shadow of Cold Mountain. No postcard vistas for us, only glimpses through the mist with joy! There is no majesty without mystery.