Three Scenes Captured

Day Twelve


Sometimes I have no photographs
I am torn between simply soaking in experience
And working tirelessly to capture it
As if the light could be captured
That transforms
And gives body to hundreds of tiny, flitting insects
Flaunting their repertoire

Or the smokeless, thick hanging air curling
Through moss fronds and down over
The swaging root branch that extends
For me an observation seat
Just inches above the gurgling stream
The mist-fading scene
Gently stirs a quiet spirit

But once I arrived upon a picture
Still and silent
Moments after the snow had ceased
Preserved in photograph