It’s another blurry photograph; did you expect anything more at this blog?  But I still think it’s kind of neat and atmospheric — like maybe the rear of a book cover for a horror novel.

What you see at left are the moon and Venus, respectively.

Sooooo, I suppose this is one of the reasons they tell you to never hike alone — the disorienting, downright Lovecraftian plantlife that limits your visibility, confuses your sense of direction and challenges your sanity.  (I arrived at this insight hiking alone.)  I have recently come to understand that this is what the people from the South and the West sometimes refer to as “the brush.”

I am frequently surprised when walking through the hills at how uneven the terrain is.  (Probably why they call it “the hills.”)  But I’m gaining a new appreciation for how daunting mountain flora can be.

I also saw a white-tailed deer — it looked as big as a frikkin’ Clydesdale.

March 2018.  One of the things that I love about Roanoke is how its mountains are obscured on overcast days by low-lying clouds.  It’s the kind of thing that would have been unheard of where I grew up — on the uniformly flat Long Island.  I doubt the novelty of it will ever fully erode.