Monday, June 27, 2011

Call, answer.

"What are you doing today?" she asked that afternoon turning to a night, the question plucked out of the still sorta blued sky. She never asks that question, either, and so the mind races. The mind races because the answer ought to be right, whether or not she's looking for the right one. But there was so much to say on that day, too much to get out in a sentence or four. Halfway between North Adams and the Mohawk Trail State Forest, caught between the music crossed with small town beauty and being enveloped in a wooded, rained-on spot for the remainder of the night, the Eastern Summit boasted of its 65-mile view on a sign and that was what was happening, being experienced, taken in. So much had taken place in the last 36 and much had yet to still but, at this moment alone, there was staring and pondering and shoving a quarter into the built-in binocular viewfinder providing the eyes to look even further along the landscape. Clouds resting on top of mountain peaks that repeated themselves nine times over, pinks and blues and greens all tripping and blending into one another, the masterpiece allowing for a hollow in the chest to be filled up when it didn't even seem empty before. If there was a soul to be searched, this was a worthy backdrop. Instead, those proverbial roses were wafting in and getting good and smelled. It was enough. And all of that couldn't have been shared, not in the right way.

So I sent her a photo of that moment. "Ahhhhh," was her reply.

1 comment:

Morley Muse said...

Your writing equals the beauty of the photo. Thanks for the escape.