The beauty of Paris Mountain in the day. Viewed from a distance, she is the first blue wave of the Blue Ridge, a silent single line heading north, forming, building, eventually tilting, but never crashing or rushing back, a captivating still frame of swelling beauty, perpetually coming. The tide coming in—or maybe going out—one final breaker heading south, spilling, fizzing, ultimately disappearing into the Piedmont.
If not a wave, she is a work of art. A nubile goddess with an androgynous name. Her sensual body is as long and lithe as Aphrodite of Cnidus but Praxiteles is not responsible. God's Great Flood sculpted her with mathematical precision and placed her belly down, head resting on muscled arms, a sleeping nymph with legs and feet stretching all the way to the city's edge. That's the view from Caesar's Head and any man with eyes to see will find himself staring, maybe even blushing, or perhaps falling in love with this erotic woman.
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