people up in the foothills are willing to
stop a bit by, look long at sunsets over
all the water, well aware of miracles -
well infused with firsthand alertness
to beauty, to the holiness that is these
places in our recurrent sights, of waters,
trees, grasses, wildflowers, and the
sweet and cheerful plops, plops of the
fish of all these lakes and rivers and
ponds and reservoirs, all around us.
Here, we turn our eyes to what this one
photographer saw, for maybe her hundredth
time: a place of sunset, and always of spirit
for her, a place with a history of ranching,
a place of fish of too many generations to
count and recall...
who are we, husbanding, as they say, these
waters and souls and soils of The Land?
what do we get to say, to witness to? is every
living thing here not a miracle? is all this for
us, or simply, on its own confluence, for grace?
take this never for granted: we are gifted, we
who chose to live among All This: these timeless
places of a planet’s hopes and dreams: that
all this will renew and renew, and renew, again...
that this is all the infinity, we shall ever, ever know....