West Mill Brook, Dix Mountain Wilderness, Adirondacks, NY.
It comes down from Dixes, like a message, clear and cold. The snow pack in the mountains is breaking up, melting into the valleys. In early spring I walked the trail that followed the brook, scrambling down occasionally to be next to the water, noisy after the stillness of the forest. It's nice sometimes, to lose yourself in the process of exposures and composition, to not think all the thoughts that jostle for attention in an overactive mind. But as I break down and gear up to continue on, I stare upstream, lost in memory, lost in longing, wondering what would be different If. After a while, even the sound of the stream fades into this silence I am left with. the silence I get, the silence I give...born of stubborness and pride. Silence, I guess, says it all. Balanced on a rocky bank, I let it all burn into me, like a message, clear and cold.