– Roland Barthes – (Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography)
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Before I knew of the above quote, I wrote 101, which accompanies the header photo of this blog.
She lets him inside her life the first time
he hikes Two Moon with her. Ice-jammed
Yellowstone, gnarled beaver dams, blonde stalks
of endless prairie waving as they walked.
He sets the pace along the river bank,
anxious, he teases, to get to where it turns pretty.
Oh Jiminy, she prays to her Montana god,
forgive him-he knows not what he says.
He’s from Oregon and only knows
green colors. He laughs out loud with her.
She tells him about moccasins, the fleeing
Nez Pierce slipping through these trees.
He talks about Bear Creek Hikers, the odds
of John Wayne wearing them, if only he still lived.
When the trail runs higher and the water cuts
the bank, they single file quietly — the sun leaning
on their backs as they round the river’s bend, a vista
point for them. Show him is the echo she sends out.
Her words strike against sandstone cliffs, skip across blue
water, settle into nested brush sleeping against washed rock.
A Chinook breath stirs when she explains to him
how beauty sneaks in when we close our eyes.