Lynville Gorge

The ancient river had carved a rugged line from the mountainsides, leaving murderous cliffs overlooking a luscious forest. Curious rock formations kept narrow watch along either wall of the mysterious canyon. The peak called Table rock was the gorge's king who sat enthroned beside Hawksbill, his seductive queen. The both of them were guarded by the sheered and craggy face of Short-off Mountain, the gatekeeper and watchmen of the wilderness.
Rushing water spilled over smoothed stones, deadening the melodious song of the cicadas as the heat of the day simmered to a slow, humid and simmering stew. Night offered little relief from the stifling and unseasonably hot weather but was still a welcomed break from the spiteful sunshine. The cool waters of the Lynville River arose like a spirit from a tomb, mixing with the rich air, creating vaporous gray wisps of fog. It shrouded the river in places and spilled out along it’s banks with an ebb and flow as though itself was a living, moving, breathing thing. It is no wonder the Cherokee understood God to have breathed life into the world with these waters being both inspired and inspiration.
The path that led to The People curved along its banks, well worn and showing no shortage of travel. Princely boulders snuggled against one another, monolithic and stoic in nature, remained apathetic to the path that diverged around, between and over them. Almighty hemlock trees, eastern pine, and purple rhododerons towered over and shadowed the forest floor but did not stop the mass of flowering vegetation just beneath them.
As you move into the darkening forest, the majesty of it’s ancient song hummed by the thrumming creatures of the night wraps around you in an inviting … and uncomfortable embrace.