Landscapes

I know now that the photographs I take will never truly capture the moment in which I take them. The crispness of the air, the sounds on the stereo, the way the sun hits the mountain through its peak and ridges and the shadows it creates in the trees. I could buy a really expensive camera with a nice lens, perhaps that would better help pay tribute to these majestic moments but it could never bring back the clairvoyance I felt, the clearness in my mind as the flash when off. There was a musty golden dusty sky on Friday, and a double rainbow poking in and out of clouds. And today there was a purple sky as the sun fell below the horizon, and the way the sun directed its light on the rippling hilltops of the Blue Ridge, it looked like a Frederic Church. I still take the photos, it hopes that one day as I shuffle through these digital nothings, I’ll remember the way I felt when I was there. And that even though you can’t see it now, it was beautiful then. And that monochromatic blue was once a canvas of infinite shades of the most beautiful aquas. And that flatly lit air had beams of light dancing like spotlights through the holes in the clouds. Escaping from the sky like a gunshot. And those dots, those were birds. Flying through the air and making patterns that resembled lungs growing and shrinking with each breath. Now just freckles in the sky. Plastered to the photograph who was incapable of taking the wind.