We think the river a wild beast, amok, tilling a path in soil.
But it’s us—in another form, searching for a mate who can only be made in our own image.
We slow the stream, to a reservoir’s pulse, in hope to drink reflections—until the end of our days.
Yet, days are a slight of hand, manmade lakes, built, so we can sing to the photogenic current.
Stilled, captured in a portrait
Touched, retouched, retold
Little Crater Lake, July 2018
A double blue reflection. The cobalt of the lake with its graveyard of dead trees lying on the bottom. One recent death half-floats in purgatory. And the deep blue of the sky, foregrounded by a living green forest. Both blues framed by ancient volcanic formations. All is alive, even death.
More photos here.
Alien Intruder or just the shadow of a nerd?
Burnt Lake, Oregon, September 2017
(The Square Peg)
Likeness — Elan Mudrow Photography
The woods are watching.
Pacific Crest Trail, Oregon, June 2018
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Rain, Reflection, Red Tennis Court, Mt. Tabor, Portland Oregon. June 2018
Ramona’s whisper requites us to ourselves—our fires extinguished, our thirst sated.
That voice, a pact between mountain and moisture, is a quiet call to us
The stumbling pilgrims, forest wanderers, wishful sages who suffer from acute chatter.
Its language—slow—near wordless, near nothing, paints upon the brow reminders…
Of lost talk of the ancient shape of myths, wrapped around delicate, heavy truths,
Source of our combined story.
We arrive with city hands, parched
To drink for the first time—again.
I sit with her
Placing her in memory
Giving thoughts strength, yet
In her silence, she frightens me.
I rely on others
Camping upon her shore
To soothe my worry.
And although I haven’t
Seen her rimmed with snow
Echoing the clearest of nights,
Pitted with raindrops
Upon her clear face,
Witnessed her held tight
By mist and clouds,
I know she has experienced this.
She reflects me
Placing me inside her memory
Giving strength to her beauty, yet
In my silence, I frighten her.
She relies on the stream
And springs to ease her.
And although she hasn’t seen
All who I love, have loved,
My stumbles and woes
On nights of anxiety,
My elations and successes,
The clatter of the city
Reverberates within me
She knows I have experienced this.