Bill and I were driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway when this overlook opened before us. Ridge after ridge stretched into the distance, each one fading into the next until the mountains seemed to disappear into the horizon. The wisps of cloud were drifting through the valleys while the first hints of autumn began painting the forests below.

Standing there, it was impossible to count how many mountain ranges lay beyond the next one. Every time I thought I'd reached the last ridge, I saw another right behind it. As far as I could see.

It’s views like this that keep me coming back to the mountains, to the place that I once called home. The view is never exactly the same. The light changes, the clouds move, and the colors change with the seasons. The feeling of standing there, surrounded by endless layers of the Blue Ridge Mountains, is one that I could never grow tired of in a million years.