Spent the weekend in beautiful east Tennessee. I have had the privilege of traveling many places around the world but honestly, the mountains of east Tennessee never fail to stir within me an awesome calm about my place in the universe.

This time of year the colors are spectacular, the foothills ablaze with color, looking like an unmade bed with a patchwork quilt tossed over.

The temperatures fluctuate. One might be scraping ice off her car in the morning and taking off a sweater by noon only to bundle up in long-johns for an evening soccer game.

In June, the hills turn lavender as the rhododendrons come into bloom. Not a here-and-there lavender but rolling hill after rolling hill of purple as far as the eye can see.

In February a storm can coat each individual tree branch with a thick coating of ice. Reflecting a full moon, the hills become as bright as daytime.

If you've stayed away for a time you forget how ingrained the area is in your soul; returning brings it rushing back into memory and senses.

East Tennessee is a gift, to be opened and enjoyed and to exclaim, "It is just what I wanted."

And that's what I think about it.