She had never been in such an isolated part of the country side before. North Carolina seemed so new and mystical to her as she drove down the dirt mountain road. She was heading to a cabin where she would spend her time in quiet, writing poetry. It wasn't long that she came upon the cabin, nestled in the woods. After parking her car and taking her luggage inside, Lorna was at ease.
Sitting on the front porch with paper and pencil Lorna eased back into her rocking chair. She had borrowed this cabin from her uncle who spent much time there. Old age had left him unable to visit his cabin alone, so he left it for others to use being a private man. A taste for privacy was something Lorna had inherited from her family as well. She preferred her own thoughts to the spoken thoughts of others and often jumped into fantastical worlds available in literature rather than deal with the real one around her.
Just before she was about to pen her first poem, Lorna heard the distant sound of bizarre music. Standing up, she put her writing pad and pencil aside and stepped off the front porch to listen more closely. The music sounded ancient, as if it hadn't been heard by human ears for hundreds of years. Adjusting her glasses Lorna bravely followed the sound and began to walk downward into the pines.
The trees reaching high above her she moved through the forest that laid far south of the Nantahala Gorge. She followed the music deep into the forest, away from the cabin and deep into the green until she came upon a great oak. Lorna gasped at the sight and moved to the tree and touched it with a loving grace. She stroked its bark tenderly, gazing up at its magnificence.
