They are old mountains, rugged, dense, wooded and ancient, wild and wet. There are no exceptionally high peaks, no glaciers, no spouting volcanoes. But these mountains hold magic—they will disarm you with their subtle spells and seize your heart as you realize that there is no place in the whole world that you'd rather be. This magic, you cannot touch; it's everywhere. And in these hills, everything makes the magic, and the magic makes everything.

The magic could be waking up and looking all around, past the shrubs and trees, and seeing these mountains consume you in a loving embrace. It could be the warm sun above in the summer time, the hushed gentle breeze, the trees, the creeks, the ponds, the streams. Could be the artists in Boone, the hippies in Asheville—they'll tell you that they love you, and they'll tell you about incense and watercolor. Could be the family and friends you meet then invite you in to eat. Supper would be chicken 'n' dumplings, mashed potatoes, green beans, biscuits, tea—you'll get full, but you'll feel pressured to eat more, so you have a third plate, and you will not regret it.

Could be the mountain laurel in spring, white flowers, sprinkled pink, all abounding. Could be the waterfalls snaking down the mountain when the ice melts. Could be the waterfalls falling all the time—not just in Spring—collecting the sunshine in summer, fallen leaves in autumn, and nothing in winter.

Could be Grandfather's profile, right outside of Boone on a mountain a mile high. Could be those jagged rocks on the peaks and smooth stones in the streams, worn by an eternity of wind and water. Could be the Parkway, and looking down from the mountains and overlooks—across the whole world. You can almost see the magic when you look the whole world, whether it's June and green, October and orange and yellow, or the New Year and naked. Could be that feeling you get when you see across this whole entire world, all that almost infinite weight and space in front of you, behind you, under you. Could be how you feel so tiny when you see across that world—but you don't feel insignificant. Because you are here, in these mountains, and with those peaks hanging above you, you are a part of the magic.