Immortal morning light comes up over the hills to the east. It spreads its yellow, soft light parallel to the ground, angelic light dancing away from gravity. A narrow ribbon of mortal asphalt runs to the south, defined by the earth it covers. Open farmland rolls off to the left and mature trees whisper their secrets to the right. Morning light kisses the gilded leaves of maples arching over the country road, harsh stripes of black limbs stabbing up and outward, a warning that secrets must be kept. No light will penetrate here. It dances off the edge of the leaves.
Hills to the west are blue and dusky, the unseen Appalachian Trail along the ridgeline, a secret path. Suddenly, the clouds break and the hills are captured in the harsh light of mid-day sun. Colors of red, brown, yellow, green are revealed in all their secret beauty, as if a woman had lifted her skirt and shown her ankles and bare feet to run quickly away. Gone again as the cloud moves back across the sun, returning secrets to where they belong, hidden under her skirt.