Landslide Bluff at Newfound Gap, oil 2005

The little girl
who played with cats
and gathered flowers
climbed the trees
ran the fields
the sun shined on

The little girl
who hugged his neck
and tried his patience
walked the woods
asked him questions

Little Girl Gone

The little girl
who asked him, "please,"
and begged permission
to go with others
stay up late
to school at dawn

The little girl
who now is grown
and stands before him
his youngest girl
his youngest child

Little Girl Gone

From age 18

West Prong of Little Pigeon River, pastel 2004

Look out over hills and valleys.
Slip into warm lake waters.
Feel the rise and fall of ocean waves.
Hear the wind of a summer storm.
Run swiftly over mountain stream boulders.
Know the play of lightning and thunder.
And speak of God's greatest creation --
Love.

From age 18.

I remember once when I was young --
even younger than yesterday,
I tamed a butterfly, yes, I did.
At least it seemed that way.
I didn't have to catch him;
he just lit upon my finger,
and he did not fly as I walked about.
No, he lingered.
And I smiled at my butterfly friend.
Yes, he was my friend.
For when he would fly to catch the wind,
he would also fly back again.
And I could pass him from hand to hand,
and he would hold on tight.
And once I let him crawl on my nose,
and he flew away alright,
when I sneezed because it tickled.
But he flew back again.
When he decided to leave, I let him go,
because, you see, he was my friend.

From age 17

LeConte Creek Tub Mill

How can this beauty be described?
My words fall far short of the awe in my heart.
The snow, virgin in places, broken in others,
lying upon the ground, softening the roughness
of man-made monsters.
The cedars standing proudly
and contentedly under their blanket of white.
The maples' shining branches, sparkling silvery
and intricately in the light from the house.
The sky, a dull white ceiling of soft, smooth cotton,
promising a fresh falling in the morning.
My own breath chilling lazily in space.
My thoughts as fresh and cool and honest as the air,
praising the Creator of this deep winter night.

From age 17

Twin Creek Trail

Snow seems to soften
the harsh lines of everything.

I walked among the sugar-covered cedar trees,
and I heard the snow squeak like a saddle
beneath my
old worn-out tennis shoes,
and I sighed as little white flakes
brushed against my lashes.

I walked where no one had walked before,
and I looked back to see
the dogs a-followin' in my tennis shoe tracks,
and I laughed as the little one fell
and burried his nose in the snow.

I shook the limbs of sugar-covered trees
and created my own little blizzard,
and I smiled.

Snow seems to soften
the harsh lines of everything.

From age 17

Flee to the mountains.
Seek sunlight.
Desire darkness
and stars
and all the mysteries therein.
Life,
its wonders,
My love,
its faults,
and You
and the mountains
Forever.

From age 17

View from John Oliver cabin, oil 2005

Mist near Chimney Tops, oil 2005

We walked
and heard the raindrops fall;
listening to our footsteps
falling upon the leaves.
I felt you thinking.
I saw the tree limbs waver.
I realized that they knew.
My thoughts were racing,
and my heart quivered
just a little.
You did not speak.
There was no need.
I touched your thoughts.
They were wet and cool
like raindrops
or tears
that had grown cold.

From age 17

Chimneys Canopy, pastel 2004

On a late afternoon
when I was sixteen,
while the leaves were gold
and the grass was green,
I went for a walk in the late summer's air,
without a worry,
without a care.

I looked for the stars
in the afternoon sky,
not expecting to see them,
not questioning why.
I looked for the snow
on the late summer's ground,
though I knew there was none
for miles around.
I looked for the lilies,
though I knew they were gone;
I kicked at the leaves
and traveled on.

Many years later
when I had grown old,
I looked for the leaves
of crimson and gold.

From age 16

Little River at Elkmont, pastel 2004

It's good to be so young,
so wonderful to be so free,
so beautiful to know
that you're in love with me.
It's so great to be in love,
so nice to have some dreams,
so fantastic to enjoy the earth
and walk in mountain streams.

From age 16

What color is black?
Describe the clouds to me.
Take me to the mountains
and tell me what you see.
I only know what I am told
or what I hear or feel,
for I am blind to all the world
and even darkness is not real.

From age 15



Middle Prong of the Little Pigeon River at Ramsey Cascades, drawn 2005

In the sunshine I found happiness.
In the wind I found strength.
In the stream I found purpose.
In you I found love.

From age 14.

Cades Cove Field, oil 2005

Blanket Mountain Sunset, painted 2005

The trees are black against the evening sky;

the sun is melting beyond the mountains.
I sit and watch as yellow turns to orange,
as the brightness falls away.
My world is left still and mystical;
I can no longer see the blueness of the sky,
and the stars are yet to shine.
Shadows linger and merge into darkness.
My only friend is fear.
My only hope is silence.
For the flowers sleep in meadows of loneliness,
and you have followed the sun.

From age 13.

Cades Cove Bend, painted 2005

Your heart is the sun on the mountain

Your smile is the creek running free

Your eyes are the air in the woods
Your voice is the darkness of the caves
Your touch is the field growing high
Your love is my paradise
and I love you deeply...
... with summer thoughts.

From age 13.