The Hills are Alive

They went off on an excursion this past Saturday, to the historic little town of Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. And while the heat threatened to smother Our Fair Adventurer and her Father and Step Mother, she would not be daunted to climb the bridges, inclining streets, and steps that found their way around and made up this delightful town nestled on the point of land where the Potomac and the Shenandoah rivers merged.

They arrived early, and walked around as street cafes unfurled umbrellas to shade tables and shops placed chalked signs outside their doors to entice passersby inside. Her Step Mother knows a lot about early American history, and was telling her about the conflict that occurred in this town due to the Civil War. Civil War re-enactors casually strolled about or set up little stall laden with artifacts from the town’s past life. Because of its location, there were old lock systems and rail road tracks that spoke of a time when this place must have been thriving in its connectivity.

It’s also a stop on the Appalachian Trail, so many adventurous souls were coming and going with pack filled to the brim with supplies. And four-footed companions happily trotting alongside making her wish there was a certain black lab+german shepherd exuberantly beside her…

There was a wistfulness about her actions, as she usually feels in places such as this that are steeped with historical potency. Not even saying much, she was content to scamper about the overlook gazing at the shifting rapids below and the stacks of trees layering the mountains, watching the steeples rising out of the hills.

There, a murder of crows lazes about a small island; there, stone remains seem to mirror those on the Anduin near the Argonath becoming over grown and yet still splendid. Light-footed, she hops up the eroded stone steps to view Black Rock and crest of mountains on the farther shore.

All in all, a successful flight for this little bird~