Snow fell in thick, tender flakes, and every hollow felt like a secret the mountains wanted to keep.
Headlights cut a narrow tunnel through the white, and the world shrank to road, trees, and breath.
You know that feeling when time slows and memory sharpens, holding on to places you barely knew?
These hollows settled into me that night, and I think they might stay with you too.
Clifford Hollow – Hardy County
Clifford Hollow, framed by steep, forested slopes and the sweeping span of its bridge, appeared almost suspended in winter quiet. The next valley offered the same stillness — muted light, powdered trees, and a sense of deep Appalachian solitude.
Brief as the drive was, the stark beauty and calm of those hollows lingered. They were more than landscapes along the road; they were moments of quiet clarity that stayed with me long after the snow had passed.
Schoolhouse Hollow — Pocahontas County
The fields lay open and pale, stitched by fences the wind kept erasing. You could almost hear recess bells buried under the snow, a memory ringing through the trees. A single lane slid between hedgerows, careful as a whisper.
Old stories clung to the slope, where a school once drew children from scattered farms. Now, only crows tested the air. The white spread even across weeds, smoothing everything until time lost edges.
I slowed, imagining chalk dust floating like flurries inside warm light. Then the road tipped away, carrying me forward while the hollow kept its still lesson.
Deep Hollow — Monongalia County
The sides climbed abruptly, like a thought that would not let go. Fog hung low over the run, turning the hollow into a dim corridor. Snow sifted down in slow threads, erasing the last tire marks.
Headlights pressed a thin beam into gauze, and the world shrank to a ribbon of wet black. Trees blurred, then reappeared, patient and tall. It felt like traveling inside a breath held too long.
I kept a steady crawl, counting reflectors as if they were beacons. When the fog thinned, the night opened, and the hollow released me gently.
Big Hollow — Nicholas County
The valley widened and gathered snow like a bowl, sweeping drifts into soft dunes. Fences peeked out in measured ribs, marking distance and hush. You could feel the cold settle without malice, just firm and complete.
At dusk, the ridges glowed blue, a tender edge against a watercolor sky. Sound thinned to almost nothing there, only the engine’s low hum. It felt unreal, but honest, like a promise kept.
I paused at a turnout, letting the quiet speak its whole sentence. Then eased onward, carrying that blue light inside, where it kept shining.
Horsebone Hollow — Morgan County (Cacapon Mountain area)
The road dropped quick and narrow, threading between stone and shadow. Snow clung to rock faces in ribs and seams, showing every angle. You felt the grade in your chest, a careful descent with no rush.
Hardwoods rattled, their limbs chalked white, and the mountain watched without blinking. Each curve asked for patience, and patience answered. The remoteness sharpened into something companionable, stern but fair.
Down near the run, ice laced the edges like thin glass. I took my time climbing out, grateful for grit, for traction, and for luck.