Cade’s Cove in Bloom
Sometimes the Smoky Mountains don’t shout—they hum. This scene from Cade’s Cove quietly sings in three distinct registers: the sun-kissed field of yellow wildflowers (whose name, frankly, escaped both of us in the breeze), the bold line of trees standing shoulder to shoulder, and the hazy Appalachian ridges that fold into each other like a lullaby. It’s a portrait of depth and simplicity—one of those compositions that seemed to assemble itself while I stood there, slightly stunned, wishing I could bottle the air.
Sometimes the Smoky Mountains don’t shout—they hum. This scene from Cade’s Cove quietly sings in three distinct registers: the sun-kissed field of yellow wildflowers (whose name, frankly, escaped both of us in the breeze), the bold line of trees standing shoulder to shoulder, and the hazy Appalachian ridges that fold into each other like a lullaby. It’s a portrait of depth and simplicity—one of those compositions that seemed to assemble itself while I stood there, slightly stunned, wishing I could bottle the air.
Sometimes the Smoky Mountains don’t shout—they hum. This scene from Cade’s Cove quietly sings in three distinct registers: the sun-kissed field of yellow wildflowers (whose name, frankly, escaped both of us in the breeze), the bold line of trees standing shoulder to shoulder, and the hazy Appalachian ridges that fold into each other like a lullaby. It’s a portrait of depth and simplicity—one of those compositions that seemed to assemble itself while I stood there, slightly stunned, wishing I could bottle the air.