Lover of the Roan

I had an awesome past few days playing on the Roan Highlands. A little bit of heaven on earth.

As I hiked with my 30 pounds on my back, over Jane Bald and toward the goats which are atop the balds to help control certain vegetation over growth, I spied a dog among the goats. The dog was running a bit with its fluffy white tail bouncing. And then I spied another.

I proclaimed aloud with only the goats and dogs and grasses and bees to hear me, "Harley dogs!" As a smile stretched from ear to ear atop the 6000-foot high mountain.

Harley is the name of a dog I've met and "conversed" with via Skype. He is a Great Pyrenees mix. The goat dogs upon the Roan Highlands must be Great Pyrenees; they looked liked Harley except they are all white.

I stopped at the fence where the goats are contained. One dog came close to the the thin-wired volted fence. Our eyes and smiles met, his tail a-wagging and then he bounded off to work shepherding the maybe 25 goats.

My heart warmed.

I turned around and drank in the view. An ocean of mountains as far as one can see and blue sky stretched as an open canopy, a few clouds as dancers in the blue.

I love you Blue Ridge.

The whisper not only in my heart, but also upon my lips.

And I do love her...the Blue Ridge.