A backpacker picks his way from Gregory Bald to the cove where a graveyard hides in low weeds behind the Primitive Baptist Church. He walks through the cemetery spotted with green moss, taking some shots. The names chiseled on the stones are almost invisible. They must be the early settlers. Their hardships, laughter and joy, and even moonshine stories are all gone into a log cabin replica dreaming under the massive white clouds lingering over the cove.
golden butterflies flutter
over the churchyard