Solstice on the Yellow River

 We spent the morning of the solstice on the Yellow River.

Near the Rockbridge, a natural rock formation that appears to bridge the river, I found a horned caterpillar that I couldn’t identify, and then I got lost again in the mystery of wild petunias, Ruellia caroliniensis. I see them scattered around the Piedmont.

The flowers last just a day, they say, but Carolina ruellia blooms all summer.

Last summer I was wondering why I’d see a patch at Stone Mountain one week and a patch on the Yellow River the next. It must be that I see the flowers but don’t notice the plants — yet another sad bit of evidence testifying against my alleged powers of observation.

I’ve read that the flowers are often blue, but all the flowers I’ve seen are violet.

The trip was memorable for what we didn’t see.

Headed south on the trail along the river, we ran into an old Georgian who said, in a soft, slow drawl, that there was a copperhead on the trail ahead. He said it out of politeness, suspecting the Big Dog might have a go at it.

I thanked the fellow and asked the Wise Woman whether she wanted to take the right fork or the left off the main trail. She said neither. The trail she had in mind was the one that went back to the truck.