June 28, 2012 / Personal
Sometimes I put my camera down
The river is to my West, brown, foamy and still. Already it is too hot to move. But I move, pushing my way through a tired breeze. Leaves and branches to my left shiver and tremble, I stop, my breathe catches. Two red squirrels skitter onto the path, only to dash back into the brush, quickly realizing where their playfulness has lead them. I feel the steam of the day rising and it covers me like a second skin, cottony and moist. High above, water skims and slides over rocks, dressing them in her slip of icy cool. Then I see him, in the grey tree that has not held its own life for some time. From where I stand on the path, we are almost at eye level. I’m actually slightly above him and I can see the details in his white and brown feathers, his large talons grasping the branch and the twitch of his yellow eye as he turns his head in my direction. He is so silent. No one else on the path stops. He is for my eyes only.