Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect

It had to have been the longest week of my life, and I couldn't have been looking forward to Friday's closing time more, than if I knew the winning numbers to the next lotto drawing, but wasn't allowed to buy my ticket until one minute before the system closed.  The department store I worked at had been filled with the sounds of a human stampede all week, thanks to the "Sixty Percent Off!" sale we'd been running.  Register lines seemed to be ten customers deep from opening to closing, and long discussions about our refund policy were almost as common as demands to immediately restock some shelf or other.  I was beat.

Finally, those lovely words - "...and thanks for shopping with us.  Good night!" - came through the store's PA system, and it was over.  Fifteen minutes later, I had cleared my department, turned in my cash drawer, and clocked out.  I was free!  I drove home, grabbing a drive-thru meal along the way.  I turned on the TV for background noise, wolfed down the still-warm burger and fries, took a quick shower, and was asleep before the hour's first sports segment.

I awoke to a perfect fall morning.  The air was as crisp as a Granny Smith apple, the sky so clear and blue, the distant mountains looked to have been stamped by some giant press and then just set against the horizon.  I grabbed my camera and my travel bag - long since packed - locked my apartment, and gave the spare key to my neighbor.  I headed southwest on the old state highway, with the Continental Divide and four glorious days off filling my view.

I meandered through the valleys and high plains enclosed by the Rockies, capturing images of quiet streams at the feet of mountains crowned with bright-yellow aspen, and of deer and other wildlife standing peacefully just off the road.  These were the photographs that would nourish my spirit, that would provide proof of the majestic scenery available just a few miles away from the poster- and sample-covered walls of the store.  It was heaven.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, I took the signature photo of my trip.  My current route followed a stream born high above the timberline, now merrily tumbling its way to a meeting with the Arkansas River.  Around a bend, an old farmhouse appeared on the left side of the road, nestled right up against a fairly tall hill.  Despite its age, it was in fine shape, and had a verdant, well-tended little lawn to rival the most looks-conscious subdivision.  Centered on the lawn was a small wishing well enclosed by a low white picket fence.  The whole scene was illuminated by the sun's last rays, which were bathing the area in a warm orange glow before disappearing for the night; the whole effect was almost magical.

The moment safely stored on film - and in my soul - I continued on my way, refreshed and alive again.

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