There is a small state park near where I live: Chain O’Lakes.
There’s nothing dramatic about it—
a string of small lakes,
some woods and fields,
a few miles of trails,
an old one-room schoolhouse that’s been turned into
a nature center.
I’ve stood many times on the bridge that overlooks this
scene.
I’ve photographed it in every season.
I still return to find images here.
There is something about this sliver of water,
and how it cuts its way into
the distance, bisecting the woods.
There is something about the stateliness of these trees,
and the way they situate themselves
on the sides of these steep hills,
sloping down to the water.
There is something about the way the seasons accumulate here,
each of them leaving a remnant
of itself behind.
I guess that’s why I keep going back.
For a place that’s not very dramatic,
I find it sufficiently rich
in drama.
