Circumspice Literary

The Promised Land

The intake of breath was daunting.  Many years had passed since he visited a climate with this much humidity and each inhalation of this thick air was a struggle.  Adjusting to this place while resting would be no easy task, but now Jude’s problem was compounded by his need to make haste.

Too many people traveled along the Blue Ridge Parkway to risk entry close to the road.  As such, prudence required a long hike from his point of arrival and making it to his intended spot, at his intended time, demanded a strenuous pace.  While he cursed his poor planning, he blessed the thick, leafy rhododendron growing in a tubular formation overhead.  Without it he would be exposed to the harsh sunlight making his trip much more difficult.

As he ducked under a particularly low hanging vine, he intended to grab the smooth gray bark for balance, but quickly stopped himself.  He was well-acquainted with this plant. Gardeners prize it for its heartiness and perennial blooms, but the short-lived domesticated varieties they use are a poor substitute.  Wild rhododendron is practically immortal.

Jude looked across the peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains dappled with the white and blush blossoms much as they have been for centuries.  Far longer, certainly, than these hills have been populated by a certain bipedal invasive species.  Most of whom are unaware that rhododendron contain a high level of toxic diterpenes such that grabbing the vines with exposed skin and rubbing one’s eyes can cause severe irritation. Instead, they blame a variety of ugly weeds or pollen for their discomfort. Such is the nature of beauty to so often hide danger in plain sight.