are my church
a photographer’s dream
an obsession.
I return
to scramble
Giant’s Path
Rock Rift
Bonticue Crag.
I return
to capture black snakes slithering
through the foothills
to meditate on the serenity at Duck Pond,
snacking on wild blueberries.
I rejoice in making a photo
of two Black Vultures perched on a ledge
then follow them with my telephoto lens
as they take flight
and then circle back to
inspect their new home.
I witness
fellow hikers’ reflections
in pools
beneath waterfalls
the cool mist
sweaty rock panorama.
I return with raw
close-ups of Spring’s
trillium erectum
wild ginger, and bloodroot;
all stalwart parishioners.
I return
to pan
Summer’s rhododendron bridge,
and zoom into a cloud
of pink and white mountain laurel.
I return
to shoot Autumn’s
red oak and mountain ash,
to snap the sugar maple’s
red, orange, and yellow leaves,
ablaze in my continuous shutter release.
I return
to marvel at the hypnotic revelation
that is the Gunks.
I return
in Winter
to photograph the glacial majesty,
the mirror images in footprints left behind
to find the divine in a frosty pine.
I return
to capture
the golden light
the blue hour and the twilights
in slow water and ice.
My focus
devout
day in and day out.
I return.
I return.
I return.
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