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Wilderness—still, serene—the ground beneath my feet seems immobile, permanent, as if the earth were a silent backdrop to my life. But this is an illusion. Earth is changing; these mountains rise in jerks of uplift along the Teton Fault.
The Teton Range towers over a valley called Jackson Hole. The range lifted along the 40-mile long Teton
Fault. Limestone and sandstone from the
Tetons eroded away to fill the valley.
The Tetons have some of the oldest rocks on earth, but the range is one
of the youngest in North America, beginning only 9 million years ago. The Rockies, by contrast, started 70 million
years ago.
Aspen Leaves
by Tim Callahan
When aspen leaves are caught in a breeze
they’re turned and spun, now green, now white
as gentle winds blow through the trees
and make them shimmer dark and light
They’re turned and spun, now green, now white
as winds cause their white trunks to sway
and make them shimmer dark and light
as fluttering leaves make shadows play
As winds cause their white trunks to sway
the whole stand whispers a breathy song
as fluttering leaves make shadows play
and trees sigh soft and long
The whole stand whispers a breathy song
as gentle winds blow through the trees
and trees sigh soft and long
when aspen leaves are caught in a breeze
My best pictures come as the sky is taking on light in
morning. I wish they could accurately capture
the Shangri-La, the earthly paradise, that
mythical Himalayan utopia that I see in person with cold air on my face. These scenes are the sort that someday, as I
lie dying, I will remember, and they will bring a smile to my lips. 
I had reserved a ride on a boat drifting down the Snake River
through the valley called Jackson Hole.
And with the park open, we set out with our competent boatman-guide, in
full view of the Grand Teton Range. 
Our boatman-guide knows the river so well that he tells stories most of way when he’s not texting.
An eagle is having a bad feather day. She looks straight at me and says, “What are you looking at, you with windblown hair.”
Canadian geese are either migrating, thinking about migrating, or deciding to stay.
Here's an Autumn Sonnet I wrote:.... I run through Autumn's holy calicos / An aspen's martyrdom is true release / I wonder what this rich mosaic knows? / Bewitching leaves into a masterpiece, / Each vanishes toward Winter's raked-up fire. / This fluttering of spellbound yellow wings, / What does this last vast flash of gold inspire? / I trail this orange cortege to final flings, / It's tricky wizard's ruddy Autumn mask, / Its charming costume falling spiritless. / When Fall's magician tricks me, dare I ask? / All will be reborn, robed in verdant dress. / This golden age will pass, what does it mean? / I'll ask a wise enduring evergreen. Lee Collins
ReplyDeleteThank you, Lee ~ I love how you weave your words into the appropriate moments ~ carrying the reader into a journey of wonderment, cascading into that final line which appears to be the inspiring thought that called forth the work ~ "I'll ask a wise enduring evergreen"
DeleteA great sonnet, Lee. May I use it somewhere, giving credit of course? These trees a re truly inspiring.
ReplyDeleteSharon, I so love the photos and captions of the eagle's bad feather day!
ReplyDeletePerhaps the boat navigator's text contained a poem you have yet to write
In fact, that would indeed be an interesting perspective that you have the power to conjure up
This was a great post and I get so excited when my email announces another piece of your sojourn to share
Junnie, you articulated exactly what I feel. Thank you. Muhsin
DeleteJunnie, Wow, you have great faith in my power to conjure. Well, I can try hard to conjure writing a poem today which the boatman read yesterday. Maybe I am confused. Anyway, thanks for following my sometimes crazy mutterings and pictures.
DeleteMushin, Are you and Junnie conspiing to confuse me? I will say that going deep into wilderness is like time travel back to a more basic age, an age when skill with nature meant survival.