Mist
                   rising through
                 the hollers at dawn,
               where whip-poor-wills sing
             and coal seams sleep beneath
           ridges worn smooth by ancient time.
         Rhododendron blooms along creek banks,
       while winding roads follow the mountain's curve.
     Generations have called these mountains their home,
   working, praying, singing, and weathering hard seasons.
 Stories drift like woodsmoke through the evening valleys,
 carried from porch to porch beneath the glow of the moon.

            The Appalachians endure,
              older than memory,
                steadfast and proud,
                  holding the faith,
                    the grit,
                      the beauty,
                        of the people
                          who belong
                            to them.