It was late spring or early summer of 2013, one of my first visits to Campbell’s Covered Bridge near Landrum, South Carolina. On a beautiful blue-sky day with a few wispy clouds, the sun had just begun to peek over the tree-lined hill behind me, dappled light caressing my subject.
Read MoreIntruder Alert
Today’s photo tells a story. But the story it tells is far broader than a pair of nesting herons fending off another heron who is interested in the location of their nest. What you cannot see in the photo is the air battle between two males, complete with pterodactyl-like sounds, that occurred shortly after I took this photograph. And what you also can’t see in this photo is the reason behind intruding heron’s boldness.
Read MoreLake of Fog
Below a pink and pale blue sky sprawls an enormous panorama of rolling hills, an extraordinary vista that can be seen from the top of Bald Rock Mountain. The sun is beginning to light up the tops of trees. It’s another good day to stand on a mountaintop, to look out there and drink it all in.
My eyes sweep all that lays before me. And out there, way out there, the fog begins its slow ascent off the cold ground, as it rises up to meet the warm air, creating what looks much like a massive white lake, a lake that gleams in the morning sun. Eyes can play tricks, especially eyes attached to an imaginative brain. I looked. I looked away. My brain jumped into overdrive.
Read MoreThe Moon Still Remembers
It had been a beautiful and sensual evening. I lay there on my big brass bed, slowly cooling down, feeling relaxed, satisfied. The room was dark. The drapes were pulled back. The window was cracked open to let in a little breeze. The cool night air felt good.
She was already asleep, lying there, breathing softly in the dark. I could barely see her smooth naked back. Then the moon, that romantic sphere, peeped from behind the clouds, and filled the room with the softest of light. Now I could see her clearly.
Read MoreNo Trespassing
At Campbell's Covered Bridge, off to the right as you're facing that old red structure, are the remnants of a road, almost covered over by trees on either side; they lean over, creating a tunnel-like view with a patch of light at the end.
You walk down that old road made of dirt, a little mud, scattered bits of gravel, and the occasional clump of grass. Once you reach that patch of light, the trail turns off to the right and up the hill. And the road ends, sort of.
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