I don’t like to brag (yeah, right) but I am so proud of this photograph. (It almost looks like a painting, doesn’t it?) I took it this past weekend during a spontaneous visit to Petrifying Springs. I was actually there twice during the same weekend, which is absolutely unheard of for me, but the weather was so gorgeous that I couldn’t resist the urge. The first visit was actually Saturday afternoon on my way home from Cara Russo’s wedding (the wedding where I almost got stranded in the elevator.) I don’t know if it was a bit of leftover claustrophobia from that or what, but I had an insatiable desire to stop off at Petrifying Springs on my way home, even though I was in dress slacks, dress shirt, and tie. . . a rather odd site on the trails of the park. But the combination of a cloudless sky, comfortable temperatures, and some free time was too hard to resist, and I spent about 45 minutes walking the trails, taking pictures, and just drinking in the beauty around me and trying not to notice the odd looks which people gave me as they passed me on the trails. (Some of them probably wondered if they’d missed a sign that said Absolutely no Hiking permitted without Shirt and Tie ! )
Kathy and I used to live right across the road from Petrifying Springs – that was during the second and third years of our marriage, when we rented a house right on Green Bay Road. I remember us saying that one of the best fringe benefits of living in that house would be the ease with which we could pay frequent visits to this gorgeous park . . . but proximity bred complacency and in those two years we probably visited the park a grand total of three times. What idiots we were! We are getting a little wiser in our middle age and managing to get to the park a little more often, even though it’s now not nearly so handy. But once we’re there we’re so glad we’re came.
One thing that’s been an interesting learning experience for me- I used to walk around Petrifying Springs absolutely certain that by the time I was done, a brand new song would be floating around my head and I would need to rush home to write it down before I forgot it. But I don’t think that has happened to me even once. . . and it’s almost like the beauty around me blunts any inclination I have to create music or lyrics. All I want to do is drink in the beauty- and another song by Greg Berg seems pointless or trivial in light of what I am seeing. I am more apt to write beautiful songs when I am cooped up. . . and something tells me that if I were ever sentenced to solitary confinement for a year, I would probably end up composing the equivalent of Haydn’s 104 symphonies plus the cantatas of Bach during my captivity. But out in nature on a gorgeous day, it is as though my talents for writing music are completely corked. But it stands to reason. Look at that photograph again. I’m not sure there is music beautiful enough to match that sight. At least none that will ever come from me.