by Mike Berger
Silence distills across the snow.
The rugged blue peak shrouded
in white. Ice crystals on bare branches
dance in the morning sun.
My camera shutter knows only one
dimension. It fails to capture the
mood; impervious to the sense of
It amputates the rustling of dried aspen
leaves and the chirping is of the birds.
The only sound is the mechanical click
of the lens and the crunch of virgin snow
Jenny Lake glistens in melody as icy
fingers penetrate its calm. The mirrored
surface captures its own images of pine