Once again, pulling myself from the tangle of rhododendron roots that wound their dense fingers right into my hair until I became as close to a yeti as I could without sinking down through the rocks into Judaculla’s home. Curled up like a fat grub, a dying leaf, a star-nosed mole. Gladly I’d give myself to be just the smallest tree, a tiny sprout, a garnet-flecked pebble in the black mirrored pool below Devil’s Courthouse Falls. And, now I return from Pisgah in search of the other one who is me, the one who gave me the universe and taught me to let it go. Eyes shining into spectralite, no labordorite, I’ll brush the moss from your face until the sun reflecting blinds me into a bliss I cannot escape. Yes, this is a life worth living; you only serve to remind me of its beauty, a gift I’ve been given and must never forget.