50 THE CAROLINA MOUNTAINS 
the back door a winding path leads across a tiny 
"branch," across a hillside and across a hollow. 
Here while the dogwood is yet in bloom, one gets a 
glimpse of the flames that are presently to set the 
mountains ablaze. This first sight of flame-colored 
azaleas can never be forgotten. You come suddenly 
upon great clusters of flowers that blaze forth in a 
splendor that quickens the pulse. It seems incredible 
that anything could come to such perfection of 
beauty in the rude environment of the mountain- 
side where so many plants struggle together for life. 
Even the celebrated azaleas of Ghent, the pride 
of the hothouse, pale before the marvelous beauty of 
these wild growths. 
All flowers are imprisoned sunshine in a figurative 
sense, but of no others does that seem so literally true 
as of these. They appeal to the imagination as deli- 
cate flames incarnate. Each bush has its own colors. 
Before you stands one whose blossoms are the color 
of flames, beyond it is a bush clad in crimson bloom, 
and there behind the bright-green leaves of young 
trees one sees a blaze of scarlet. Orange-yellow 
shading to pale flame glows on the edge of the hollow; 
a regal bush blossoming with the gold of ripe lemons 
stands a little apart; as you look up the near hillside, 
your eye is caught by wonderful bronze tints, by 
shades of pink, and elusive pale-rose tints. In this 
arras of exquisitely blended colors, soft shadows 
lying on the petals yet more mingle their hues 
together. 
You feel as if something important had happened 
