Impression Evergreen

Great Blue Heron On a chilly winter day near Nebraska’s North Platte River, a great blue heron swooped in searching for prey. After a brisk feather-ruffle, it proceeded to patiently stroll along the shoreline of an icy pond. Sharp eyes scanned the water’s surface for small fish. With its sinewy neck coiled into the shape of an S, the big bird was ready to strike. A long, dagger-like beak would deliver the final death blow. After an unsuccessful hunt, the lanky waterfowl became annoyed with the uninvited intruder. It promptly straightened up, delivered a harsh croak and soared swiftly to the safety of a nearby cottonwood stand. A chilly winter day Searching for prey Ruffled feathers Patiently strolling Sharp eyes A sinewy neck Coiled into the shape of an S An unsuccessful hunt A lanky waterfowl Straightened up

A Nebraska cornfield I'm a child of the corn, a bug-eater and a husker. I was raised on a farm in Western Nebraska where a colossal cornfield was our backyard. They've been suffering from a terrible drought but this summer the sunflowers have gone crazy and the corn is as high as an elephant's eye. Follow the dogs around the crop and you'll discover a field full of life. Avoid the stickers and watch for woodpeckers in the old tree stand. The hills are alive with a kaleidoscope of color. A profusion of colorful wildflowers decorate the normally brown pastures. Atop the fell, an irrigation canal is running high where the views are sublime. It's a far-reaching panorama of farmland featuring Chimney Rock, clearly visible from fifteen miles away. Despite their decay, a pair of Chevy trucks seem surprisingly picturesque. Backlit against a cloudy sky, Longhorn cattle bring a dramatic dimension to the circular stroll. Down by the creek, trample across a corner of

Mountain Lion Loop "Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway." ~ John Wayne One day this summer, we left the safety and comfort of our hearth and headed into the high country. We logged an out and back at Mountain Lion Loop on a warm August afternoon. It was unfamiliar territory, a land where uncowardly lions leap from pine tree limbs. Fortunately, such a frightful encounter never transpired. Instead, we found flowers, butterflies and bluebirds. Up out of Golden, the gorgeous meadows were gushing with greens and yellows. It was a glorious day in the mountains. We continued ever further, leaving behind the crowds and cell service. We faced our fear with a faith that we would enjoy a triumphant return. Beyond the crest, we strayed from the path and made a risky, cross-country romp out to a scary cliff edge. Under a cloudless sky, the perch overlooked a quiet creek where white rocks were bleached by the scorching sun. Regaining the right track, our u

Blue Lakes, Colorado During the first part of the journey, we looked at all the life. There were plants and goats and marmots and things. Blue Lakes was a cool pond of icy indigo stair-stepped in a deep moraine. After a while, we were dwarfed by a massive summit called Quandary. We continued through the mountains hiking towards a peak with no name. It felt good to be climbing without pain. Further up, unstable snowfields slid into the transparent lake. We listened to the chirping of marmot calls. The eerie echo ricocheted between steep canyon walls. A chilly breeze skimmed snowy peaks. It funneled across the lake delivering an arctic blast. The thawing ice sheets were shattered into frosty shards of floating glass. Pouring down from a headwall, the creek became a rush. Crossing through frigid water cut like a knife. Granite, gray giants enclosed the valley in an austere tomb of rock and ice. To the chaos and confusion below. We returned from the peace and quiet above. Un

Light is the symbol of truth "To love beauty is to see light." ~ Victor Hugo We ascended straight to hell and back. Hell's Hole that is. If our destination truly was the Devil's Den, then Hell has frozen over. There was still an enormous amount of deep snow obstructing the rugged trail to Lucifer's Lair. Our journey began well enough. Warm sunshine filtered through a tunnel of arched aspen. Chirping birds and the rumble of West Chicago Creek provided comforting background noise. The majestic pathway of soft dirt beckoned the unwary traveler. The lovely entry into the wilderness concealed the truth about the difficulties that would lie ahead. Precarious bridges lured the curious seeker deeper into the abyss. Inexplicably, the sky turned gray and it began to rain. How would it end? Swallowed by the eternal shadow of Gray Wolf Mountain, the underworld was a cold and forbidding place. Stamped into the earth, the depression was enclosed by a dark forest of