Smokies Light

The Place of a Thousand Drips is losing some or most of its magic. With the hemlocks dying off, it's more open and exposed to the sun now. Near the end of the trail I came across a small caravan of elves, trolls, and a couple of wizards mounted on unicorns headed out of the Park. They've come upon hard times with last year's drought, climate change, and the loss of cover in the dying forest. A few said they heard rumors of work out in Oregon or Washington state, a few others were headed south to Costa Rica, though none were too happy about their future prospects. One wizard said he was just gonna take a night audit job in Gatlinburg. At age 1000, he was getting too far along in years to make a major change.

And in the streets the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
-- Don McLean