I found this scene on a fog-heavy morning in Craggy Gardens off the Blue Ridge Parkway, when the forest feels less like a place you walk through and more like a space you enter. The trees were half-hidden in mist, their branches dissolving into pale air, and everything was quiet enough to hear water and leaves settling. What stopped me was this single tree anchored to a rock face—roots exposed and gripping stone as if they’d chosen endurance over comfort. I framed the photograph to keep the fog as an active presence, letting it soften the background and make the tree feel ancient and watchful. The moment wasn’t dramatic, but it was complete: a lesson in persistence, written in wood and rock.
