What It Means

Instead of taking the most direct route home from our western Carolina travels a couple of weeks ago, we opted for the Blueridge Parkway. Dad drove to the nearest access point and then wound us high into the mountains, over the viaduct, which juts away from the mountain in a free-floating road between the leaves. The Parkway was, of course, jammed with leaf-lookers just like us. Motorcyclists admiring the views in their leather clad legs and military-style half-helmets. Families gathering on overlooks and pleading with nearby strangers to take their pictures.

I only took a few snaps from one of the overlooks. Dad held my beltloops to keep me steady on the low rock wall overlooking firs and oaks and maples against a cerulean fall sky. Mama didn't even get out of the car for these expeditions; her fear of heights kept her strapped tightly in the car likely reading to take her mind of what she assumed would be the tumble I'd take to my death.

Instead of trying to overphotograph the moment, I bade myself enjoy it. The drive took hours at a languid pace along the scene highway. We volleyed between being deep in conversation, laughing maniacally, munching kettle corn and contemplative silence. We wound through Asheville down to Highlands and Cashiers. At the highest points, low-growing trees scrubbed against the peaks, already stripped of their leaves. But somewhere along our descent, we hit the altitude where it was peak fall colors. As we followed the curves of the mountain in a slow, dreamy caress, we entered a section where the tree canopy reached all the way across the road, a tunnel of fire and honey. The sun broke through the trees in a gilded dance with intermittent shadows.

In a moment of forgetting where I was, I said out loud, without thinking, "This is what they mean by 'dappled in sunlight.'" Dad looked at me from the driver's seat, at his daughter who is always the one that says these odd things, these pronouncements from her inner-monologue that don't match the thought patterns of anyone else in the family. And then he laughed, because I'd said it, and it was true.

Miles later, we bent around the mountain into an even longer, more glorious tunnel of autumn color. After a few general declarations of its beauty, Dad said, "Now this is dappled in sunlight." And I laughed. Because in that moment, I knew there way understanding beyond definitions.