Virginia’s tree-covered mountains are ancient, some of the oldest in the world, I’ve been told. Trees cover most every inch that has not been cleared by man or nature. I watch the gentle breeze tickle the tops of the massive Oak trees, dislodging long forgotten secrets lingering in the towering branches. Secrets left by man and creature since life began. If I sit motionless I can almost feel the ground tremble as a carnivorous dinosaur tears through the underbrush in search of his hapless dinner. I hear dry leaves crunch beneath fleeting hooves as the whoosh of an arrow slices through the forest. A newborn baby whimpers in the chill of a dark night, nestled in his mother’s arm while his parents huddle around a sputtering campfire. The long forgotten sounds of children’s laughter, dogs barking, timber falling, filters through the growing trees and the world turns a few more times. Shots from a soldier’s musket ricochets through the night. Cannon’s blast as a call to charge and courageous shouts are suspended in time. Smoke-filled silence hangs like a banner of honor over the tragic scene. Somewhere a fatherless child cries.

      Like the towering trees that line the crest of the mountain, life changes with the seasons. As a wrinkled, naked baby enters the unfamiliar world, another soul slips from this life into the great hereafter.

      The mountains will stand long after my mortal body is laid to rest. Maybe the mountains will hold the secrets of my life, sprinkling them about as the gentle wind tickles their uppermost branches.