In the woods near the Potomac, where I walk to stay solid, the trees are bare. Strong verticals rise along a chiseled jaw of stone. Between Piedmont Plateau and coastal plain, this is the fall line: tough rocks, and old. 550 million years? Still sticking around. At dusk, pink light shines off the river and lands soft on hard lines. This place is handsome to me.
More postcards: from Assateague Island, from the Billy Goat Trail.
