A Morning in June
The pick color had evaporated from the mountains and the early morning sun was bleaching the peaks and turning the lingering snow white. The lake was void of a breeze and was starting the day as a mirror that reflected the Tetons and magnified their grandeur. An occasional splash from a jumping fish added exclamation to the songs of the birds. I passed a father with his son and daughter as I left the edge of the lake and climbed a rise to look down upon the lake and the reflected image of the mountains. As I distanced myself from the family, I turned onto another trail and found the solitude I sought.
There’s something sacred about mornings. The early light hasn’t been corrupted and holds promise of a day rich with discoveries and unanticipated pleasures. I walked along the shore with camera ready and extra batteries in my pocket but the thought of taking photos seemed obscene. A camera can retain some details better than my memory but it can’t capture the crisp feeling of the air, the sound of my labored breath as I made my way up rises, the sudden rustle in the leaves, the frantic movement of a squirrel that realized it was stranded on a log extending into the water, the smell of the damp undergrowth and the feel of being grateful to be alive and alone in a world of fantastic beauty.
After exploring two ponds near the lake I found a trail that appeared to head toward the campground where Julie would be waiting with hot coffee, breakfast and a smile.
Life is always good but mornings filled with hope and anticipation are the best. -- June 18, 2006
There’s something sacred about mornings. The early light hasn’t been corrupted and holds promise of a day rich with discoveries and unanticipated pleasures. I walked along the shore with camera ready and extra batteries in my pocket but the thought of taking photos seemed obscene. A camera can retain some details better than my memory but it can’t capture the crisp feeling of the air, the sound of my labored breath as I made my way up rises, the sudden rustle in the leaves, the frantic movement of a squirrel that realized it was stranded on a log extending into the water, the smell of the damp undergrowth and the feel of being grateful to be alive and alone in a world of fantastic beauty.
After exploring two ponds near the lake I found a trail that appeared to head toward the campground where Julie would be waiting with hot coffee, breakfast and a smile.
Life is always good but mornings filled with hope and anticipation are the best. -- June 18, 2006
posted by Paul at 6:40 AM
4 Comments:
Simply, wonderfully put.
Paul, you memory hasn't gone nor your senses..........
Take the camera next time.
Reads beautifuly, Paul.
Yes, the best pictures I have are locked away in my memory, complete with scent, sound, and texture. There's no amount of mega-pixils that's going to store those gems.
I too can relate to your thoughts on the limitations of photography. I guess the difference between those who take snapshots (like me!) and those who take great photographs is art. Even more amazing are those who can capture emotions in a painting or drawing.
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