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Welcome to Mystic Mountain, a real place nestled deeply in the ancient mountains of Western North Carolina.

The Land of the Waterfalls… I've always known I would come back to these ancient hills. I've always felt I've lived here before, even when I was a child.  It took almost a lifetime, but I made it back.  I've found a peace here I've never known in my life. These mountains are changing constantly.  Since I've been here I've seen these ancient hills sport every imaginable cloak.

I've seen high summer, when the air is so still and thick you'd swear time was standing still...the shades of green are as myriad as those forty shades in Ireland I've always heard about.   Fall comes in two waves, both filled with color so intense you can almost imagine The Creators splashing their paint brush over the hills, leaving the trees in sunbursts of gold, red, yellow, orange and hues in between.   The leaves dance and swirl, and I smile when a burst of them falls in front of me, knowing an angel has spread its wings and shaken them.

Winter blows in cold and blustery, shivering the last of the color from the trees, leaving only the pines, firs, and mountain laurel with any hint of life.   Sheer rock walls appear overnight and small waterfalls peek out from their summer hiding places.   The fog lays thick some mornings and evenings, shrouding the peaks and valleys with a gray blanket, cocooning me in a peaceful private veil.   The sun sparkles and glistens off huge icicles hanging from out-croppings and ledges like great teeth .   And gossamer webs of frost decorate the roadside shrubs making the mountain seem like a natural Christmas tree.

Snow covers the mountain several times, leaving me to play and laugh in the fantasyland of crystal and light.  You should see the full moon come up over the mountain... its rays bouncing off the snow and skimming across the fast moving silvery waters of the stream near the house!   If you believe in Spirit, it is here... all around you...  embracing you and moving through you, cleansing and healing...

Old bent oaks covered in thick, luxurious green moss mingle peacefully among maple, locus, and pines.   In the Spring, when Mother Nature spreads her laprobe to stretch, tiny fiddleheads push their way upward through the layer of fall leaves which have lain protectively through the long winter.   By late April, the mountainside is thickly covered with wild green ferns, Rue Anemone, Trout Lilies, Nodding Trillium and Black-eyed Susans.

Tulips, crocus, Stargazer lilies, Gardenias and other lovely flowers planted by my grandson join this natural canvas in a profusion of color and sweet smells which permeate the air around the cabin.   In the springtime, daffodils, crocus and phlox peek through the melting snow.   Flowering trees sport their finest early blossoms and you can smell freshly mowed grass for the first time.

The nights are still frosty, but the sun quickly dispels the chill and leaves the day clean and fresh.   Often rain and gray skies greet me in the morning and I face east in what some think is dreary weather.   To me, it is just another cloak Mother Earth dons in my behalf, letting me see the softer, muted side of her.   The stream rushes faster, covering the rocks in the tiny waterfall.  Bare limbs drip after their bath soaking the greening ground beneath them...

Bear, white-tailed deer, raccoon, possum, skunk, and rabbits wander the mountainside.   When it's warm, you can sit on the porch late at night and listen to the lonesome, haunting howls of the coyote as they run the ridges nearby...

This is my home...

And this is the driving force behind my art!