White Oak Mountain View

On a clear day at the top of White Oak Mountain you can see the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The hills loom up along the horizon like rock monsters. In grayscale, due to the distance, there is no distinction of green leaves or brown trunks, just mounds disrupting the blue sky, some are long ridges, some are rounded peaks, and one looks like an Eqyptian pyramid. Ones mind wanders towards them like the calling of the Sirens at sea or the temptation of mirages in the desert or the sweet smell of baking. The next morning, the haze returns and the mountains seem to have disappeared into the background, leaving a mystery for the horizon.

Pant legs flapping in the wind look as though they are trying to get away from that pinching pin of wood, hoping to catch up to the shirts hanging beside them. The wind holds their legs just far enough off the ground to keep them from running away in the yard. They keep flapping and flipping undaunted by their captor of wrapped twine and metal poles, seemingly unaware of their unanimated condition. White T-shirts hung from the shoulders seem pinched and tethered, helpless to change their position. Wind finds its way behind their opposition and pushes it out of the way. This is something you do not see everyday.