There’s a certain magic in walking after a snowstorm. The world is pristine, untouched—every flake a jewel, resting like icy dust sprinkled across the mountains. It’s a fleeting perfection that vanishes with the first footsteps, the first tracks. And so, last Saturday, I rose before dawn, drawn to the stillness and silence that only snow…
Read more: A Snowy Saturday in Kingsport: Tradition, Reflection, and the Spirit of Place