A series of essays and poems….
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THE PINK AND PURPLE MIST OF THE SMOKY MOUNTAINS
~A HISTORY OF BEAUTY, WAR, INDIGENOUS AMERICANS, AND HARD WORK~ |
….as seen through my eyes!
By: Jacqueline E Hughes
I feel as though I am only borrowing the innocent things that surround me: the sky, an old barn, people in history, memories of mine and others, the soil, grass, and stone of a place we particularly love, and time itself. But I am placing them neatly and securely within containers without depth or dimension; digital photographs taken to preserve actions in time that excited my being then as they do at this exact moment.
I am pleased to think that my photographs, trapped within the ethos of time, past and present, reach out to those I might capture in the near and distant future. It warms me to believe that our own future transcends time and space and provides hope for us far beyond our known experiences.
I write about these experiences from a poetic perspective and become one with the history of beauty, war, Indigenous Americans, buildings that communicate with me, and make tangible all of the long, hard work our forefathers endured throughout the years in order to create a better life for us.
WINDOWS
With blades of grass and stone, alike, immortally drenched in
rain and blood,
The history that surrounds this dampened paradise attracts
the brave and the bold.
I can feel the past running through my lug-bottom soles
as I walk each path and trail.
With weapon of choice strapped ‘round my neck just waiting
to capture and behold,
Each footstep marked in the crooks and crannies…marching,
marching without fail.
Dilapidated barn just around the bend, if only you could talk to
me on this sunny day,
I know what you might say to this wayward traveler so keen
on capturing your image:
“Cling righteously to what’s transpired, before my hat of rusty tin and swayback walls near collapse. Lambs and calves were born and sheltered within my bosom before the stink of automobile exhaust, acid rain, and time contributed to my inevitable demise.”
As hard work’s sweat soaked through clothes and bloodied
hands gripped the plow,
These men and women, born of guts and glory, raised
offspring who endured hard times;
Knew the true meaning of survival as they faced every
challenge known to humankind.
Were the encircling mountains a blessing or a curse as
Sunday’s bells began to chime;
Truly massive hurdles that bone-weary bodies translated into
obstacles so unkind?
Somehow, we often remember you in cold, gray tones of
silver-coated copper plates,
With each image bearing the bitter smell of the
photographer’s flash powder light.
Have the bright and vivid colors of Indigenous Americans
blended with your own,
After the Cherokee tribes, forced to leave, began to shed
their Trail of Tears?
Sadly, ten years later, Congress grants them money used to
purchase their own land.
We delight in all your glory, from trees of burnt sienna to fields
in every shade of green.
And, purple misted mountains slowly blackening in the fading
light of the setting sun!
You grace us with your ‘pure light’ from early morning hours
into the magenta and blue evenings.
We drive long distances to see you; envying those who already
call you home.
Western North Carolina, an illuminated gemstone that fills me
with eternal joy!
Wishing all of you who nurture, have nurtured, love and guide a child (all children) through the world we live in—and help to make them the strong, kind, loving beings they were meant to be! Happy Mother’s Day, this Sunday and each day of the year!
Copyright © 2024 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
Photo Copyright © 2024 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
