there are no pews more suitable for prayer

than naked river rock or exposed cliff ledge

no votary impulse more satisfied than at mountaintop

or at the base of inexorable whitewater

under big bossy cumuli

the whole body seems tempted toward campfire

as it does toward sunshine

breathing such living air

your skin is summoned to drink

the fine atmospheric champagne that on its own

comes to its knees

by earthy drunkenness or faith

faith in the wildness of life

in the sturdy storm enduring tree

and the white stamen of shooting star

that has been
abhorrently commandeered

by creation

For The Love Of A River.

When winter lacquers lakes and river tops, attacks breath and nose as it always does here in New England, when no bow can breach the white glass of January, we go along the waist, the feminine neck of what we would otherwise paddle, merely for our eyes to fondle the aching ice moaning under it's own weight, shrieking and shattering like a crystal chime on a windy day.

Camping Alongside The Pemi

the Pemigewasset River

photos by rick beaty