National Park for less than an hour when I’m mistaken for a woodland fairy. Even though I’m here to witness the ethereal phenomenon of synchronous fireflies—Photinus carolinus, a species famed for its ability to flash in unison—the association is surprising. After a pandemic period of virtual living, I’m feeling more like a haggard dweller of the modern world than an enchanted being. In fact, when I hear a stranger calling out from across the forest glen I’m wandering, it takes me a second to realize that she’s addressing me. She waves me over and asks again: Are you a magical creature?”
The woman gestures towards the two young children with her and says, We saw you walk down to the river, and then you disappeared. I told the girls you must be magical. This whole place is magical. Reminds me of Narnia or something.”
It does feel as if we’ve travelled through a portal to another realm. The woman is sitting on a porch stoop, but there’s no porch. And there’s a chimney nearby, but no house. To reach a trailhead in an area of the park known as Elkmont, we— along with hundreds of other visitors here to witness the synchronous fireflies’ light show, which generally occurs in a two-week period around early June—had to walk along an avenue of mountain cabins, abandoned after the park was formed. Remnants of the former settlement are visible everywhere, scattered among riverrounded stones and beds of fern.
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BOOKS
Books review
STUDIO - Off Lamington Road by Gieve Patel
Oil on Canvas, 54 x 88 in
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