short story
religious thoughts
born in the wrong era
timeless trampede
so little sacred
never going anywhere
price on the priceless
fantasy art






All of nature moves in ancient time. Mark & I are driving onwards to Fern Canyon - we see a small herd of male Roosevelt elk - their headdress in bloom - we stop. Mark is the only one with the telephoto & teleconverter lens - he takes photos of the elk, slowly inching closer to ther lumbrous bodies.

A car of two females stops. They get out - one owns a camera, a point-and-shoot. They watch the elk for a minute, the one with the camera tells her friend she will wait until "he is done" taking his photo. Mark carries on, composing, adjusting his camera, clicking the shutter. She exasperatedly walks to the other side of where he is, takes a few photos, returns to her friend. She is bubbling with her success. They get back in the car, drive off.

Mark is still taking photos, I am listening to the ancient motion of the waves crashing, the silence of the elk grazing, as the rest of the world buzzes and zips by.

What we forget is that our joy lies in not obtaining more, not thinking, "When I have the money to get that new car, house, cd player....", but in paying attention to what is around us. The primal, the ancient - if we slow down long enough for nature's pull, the timelessness, the cosmic peace that is our birthright, will bring us the fulfillment we have worked so long and hard for.

We are the noisemakers, the rattlers. Every few minutes a truck flies by, lifting dust and pebbles and twigs, creating a ruckus for all that is silent or anciently still - between ocean and cliff and rock.

the road to fern canyon
orick, california
july 22, 2000

© 1990 - 2003 Katharina Woodworth
fantasy art