Author: Maya Thompson
Last summer, I spent a week in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The mountains rose like giant green waves, stretching farther than the eye could see, dotted with rivers that sparkled under the sun.
Our cabin was small but cozy, perched on the edge of a pine forest. Each morning, I woke to birds singing outside the window and the smell of dew on the grass. We hiked trails that twisted up steep hills, the air fresh and cool, filling my lungs with a sense of freedom.
One afternoon, we followed a narrow path to a waterfall hidden deep in the forest. The water tumbled over rocks with a roar, sending mist into the air. I stood there, mesmerized, feeling both tiny and infinite at the same time.
Evenings were quiet. We sat by the fire, listening to the wind in the trees, watching the sun set behind the peaks. I wrote in my journal, capturing moments I knew I would forget if I didn’t.
By the end of the week, I felt renewed. The mountains had taught me to slow down, to notice the details I usually overlook, and to find calm in the midst of life’s noise. Traveling there reminded me that sometimes the most profound experiences are the simplest; walking breathing, observing, and being present.