Last Saturday, a friend and I drove to Townsend. We parked in the lot right before the Backporch Restaurant when you enter town and rode our bikes about three miles up to the Wye, where the road forks into the Smokies.
There were people everywhere near and in the river, as it bends out of the park and makes its way toward Townsend. Friends and family were triumphing over the heat and having a wonderful time in the process.
I jumped off a rock into the cold water and looked up. There on a grass-covered bank sat several people; I couldn't help but think of the painting below.- the Smoky Mountain version of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Seurat. We may be more like the man lounging in the lower left corner than the prim and proper men and women scattered about, but in a way, I'm glad for that.