Red Hills of Georgia

Today on a trip south toward Atlanta, I marveled at the fresh crisp color on the foot hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Our color in southwestern North Carolina has peaked in most places. The mountains north of my home are colored like a can of ten penny nails left out a week in the rain. But as I drove on this exquisite fall day through Young Harris, Blairsville, Blue Ridge and Elijay, my vistas of rolling hills and peaks reminded me of bright cranberries spilled on a blue plate of sky. Very little yellow or gold, but rounded humps of red bordered the highway curling and twinning through small towns, and quiet pastures.