As the first snow sets the stage of the
Blue Ridge Mountains,
the remaining leaves flutter in the north wind
like tiny dancers with opening night jitters.
The sun rises over this miraculous act,
and the White Tail Prima donna dance the steep moss covered slope
with a quiet grace and confidence.
Behind the scenes the squirrels scurry through the woods
like dedicated stage hands, as if to make sure all is right with the production.
As an audience of one,
I watch in amazement as the show unfolds once again. . .