This spot of Burgess Smith Road is cool and green with a creek that’s narrow enough to jump over. The forests are thick and tall, nicely unkempt. A couple of gravel paths head up the hills and curve around, keeping their destinations secret. Who knows what might happen when I walk up one?
After a few good days of rain, water flows into the Elkhorn from the eastern hills. The blissfully sedate creek swells up beyond all reason. Brown water surges over the little Great Crossing falls, splashing down into white swirls that give off tall sprays. When the water is high, danger and mystery loom around the…
A few people sit in shady spots fishing, but other than that, Hector and I have the hot afternoon and the pond to ourselves. Hector has his nose to the ground, weaving it back and forth with intense seriousness, like a cartoon dog. We circle the pond, me trying to get the light as it…
When it’s hot like this a storm can blow in just like that, thunder and all, changing the whole look of things around here. The steady trees sway and dance as if explaining themselves, finally. The harsh light mellows through the dark clouds, and the little forest turns magnificent shades of blues and yellows and…
The young birch is the odd man in the patch of pines we’ve planted—slender, somewhat delicate, with heart-shaped leaves that reflect light as they twirl. I like to watch the young birch when the sun is low in the sky. The thin trunks reach up. The tilting leaves drink in the gold light, then disappear…
“You have to come see this,” John said. He stood at the open sliding door to the deck, looking up. “All the colors bright as can be.” The sky was wild, blue and orange, with a beautiful eerie light that felt significant. The rainbow shot through it all as if it belonged there, even lighting…
I was sitting at home not feeling well, so John brought me a wonderful, strange bouquet – a couple tiger lilies, three pink carnations, two small sunflowers, a dozen yellow daisies, and five miniature orange roses. In my woozy state, I watched the colors whirl together, and I remembered science class in some elementary grade…
The slim forest feels like my link to the earth. Sometimes I stand on a stump and pretend I’m Emerson, a little teary-eyed. I stretch my arms out, lift my chin, close my eyes and imagine I am a transparent eyeball through which the force and knowledge of the universe flow unchanged. I am part…
After a good rain, the little falls at Yuko En will splash right up on you if you get down close. Closer, and you’re sliding toward the blue and gold light, the rising mist, the planes of crystal glare. From the edge of the sidewall your feet hit the falling water, the force pushing against…
The ducks are of two minds. I’m a bother, but I am something to yell at. Some jump to the ice. At dusk, the ducks might as well be ice. Winter pastels fade into brilliant blues and reds that spread from the horizon across the pond, the field, the day. “Those ducks . . ….
G Bebs / Photographs 