Figures walk in and out of my room. As I stare intently at my screen, I am lost. The world dances and the figures in it make their trails to and fro. Where is my place in all this magic? Right here. The words rolling off my fingertips pour meaning into me as surely as I strive to pour meaning into them. What a strange duplicity.
I recently drove across a bit of country well known for its ability to inspire folklore and legend. This magical land called West Virginia inspired me to such a length that I can almost believe in Rip Vanwinkle.
The clouds laid over my path just far enough up to be called by their true name and not fog. They drizzled water down on my automobile in some mystical shower. The hills or mountains, or walls of trees (I am still not sure if they had an end) surrounded me in so much wonder. To add to all of my enjoyment, high bridges emerged unbidden from the sides of these mountains and disappeared just as quickly into their destination with no signs of roads connecting them to the rest of the world. These lovely structures seemed almost integral to the structure of such a magical place, as if they were mere girders that the mountains had been built on by some long forgotten race.
In short, the Appalachian mountains at the southern edge of West Virginia have captured my imagination.
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