At the Overlook on Afton Mountain, Last Morning of September
Cloud Ocean lays over the valley as an unnamed sea
did before names, only the southern peaks
visible like islands in the distance. Clouds crash
into a coast of trees and in the slow motion violence of
white spray rising I sway unsteadily
on top of 400 million years of unmoving rock
Translations from the English 
Beautiful.
Thank you, Miranda.
I really like that picture! It makes my mind think of writing a story. Thank you for sharing it 🙂
So glad to see you here. I saw this on the way to work, and missed the overlook lane, so I drove down the mountain six miles and into the fog, took the first back road, drove back up the mountain up into sunlight again, got back on the main road and then parked at the overlook to take some (admittedly unfocused) pictures. I have taken this road about two thousand times in the last five years to get to work and back, and had never seen quite such a scene before, so I had to try to capture the image and describe the feeling of being up there over the clouds.
It’s exhilarating, isn’t it? Chasing an image and the light? V. cool!
Yeah, j!
I don’t think I have ever traveled 15 miles so quickly to try to get back to a sight, an image, that I knew was not going to last. Right? A totally different frame of mind than just thinking of how to put it in words. First, to just experience it again, fully; then, try to capture some wedge of it out of time and take it back with me into the valley…
Made me want to read it again and again!
Thank you so much, Dennis, and welcome. Hope to see more of you around here.
Totally love the black and white- and I just read Tea Ceremony to my guy here as he’s lying down to sleep- all cozied and relaxed- he loved it. :0)
Thank you, glad those poems were some part of your own evening ceremonies. I am certainly no photographer, but those pictures at least stand as evidence of that moment, enough for me to remember the rest and work it into words.
You must never tell yourself (or anybody else) that you’re “no photographer”, because nobody else can snap that shutter at that moment in the same way that you can and nobody else shares your vision when you do it: you’re the sole artist AND photographer. ;0)
How is it that the unmoving moves us so?
I bow before your comment, which is better than the poem it comments on. But I think that means you bring the next bottle of wine.
Ha! Red, white, or sparkling?