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Mass on the Banks of Inks Lake
Texas, Baby's First Camping Trip Rebecca Loomis Texas, Baby's First Camping Trip Rebecca Loomis

Mass on the Banks of Inks Lake

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” we begin. I feel the Holy Ghost breathe through the quivering arms of the sycamore, whose foliage betrays the dawn of autumn. As a monarch butterfly dances through the falling leaves, the Gospel reading warns us: you know not the hour. I close my eyes and wonder: will I be ready if, today, death calls my name? The breeze gently draws my long, golden hair into its rhythm, as the Lord of the universe tugs on my heart to return.

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Untethered as the Birds: Zip Lining in the Smoky Mountains
The Appalachian Way Home, Tennessee Rebecca Loomis The Appalachian Way Home, Tennessee Rebecca Loomis

Untethered as the Birds: Zip Lining in the Smoky Mountains

I feel giddy as they lead us higher, higher, higher into the sky, leaving the lush green trees that once surrounded us at our feet, and at the feet of the rugged blue peaks I now spot in the distance, shrouded in wisps of fog. The most biodiverse National Park in the United States, the Smoky Mountains smell of mist, clay, and clouds. I inhale the trees’ breath and relish the tingle of minuscule rain droplets that litter my skin, no longer fighting the inevitable merging of my once-clean body with Earth’s fingerprints.

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A Stormy Night Upon The Porch
New York, Everyday Marvels Rebecca Loomis New York, Everyday Marvels Rebecca Loomis

A Stormy Night Upon The Porch

My dirty bare feet are curled beneath me on a mildly damp patio bench. The porch shelters me from the night storm, but exposes me just enough that my arms are sprinkled with water. In a nearby pond, a duet of rippling chirps is sung back and forth between two frogs. They are hidden by the blackened sky until it is split by purple lighting.

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Swaddled in Color: A Walk Through the Rainforest Pyramid at Moody Gardens
Texas, Local Adventures Rebecca Loomis Texas, Local Adventures Rebecca Loomis

Swaddled in Color: A Walk Through the Rainforest Pyramid at Moody Gardens

We descend through a tunnel to the lower level of the pyramid, where we no longer see but glimpses of the white beams that hold up the glass sky. Ripples of light bounce from water onto the underbelly of the bridge we were just on. We walk through drapes of hanging moss that tickles my head, and I admire the vibrant orchids that have been carefully placed among them. We are swaddled in color: purple plumes and magenta foliage, yellow fans and peach-colored palm stalks, scattered throughout every shade of green in every possible shape. Long whistles, raspy trills, and the stuttering cry of loons are joined by the sound of rushing water, and something like the croak of a frog—or perhaps a monkey. Was that an elephant I just heard? The jungle plays tricks on my ears, and holds its secrets from me.

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Another Christmas at Sawyer’s Peak
New York, Everyday Marvels Rebecca Loomis New York, Everyday Marvels Rebecca Loomis

Another Christmas at Sawyer’s Peak

I wake to soft streams of light pouring through the window of my childhood bedroom, and the warmth of a small curled body that has taken liberty to climb under my covers while I slept. Feigning slumber, I peek one eye open to look out the slats of my window blinds, and glimpse a flurry of white fairies littering the crisp winter air. They settle on the lawn and patio like a coating of powdered sugar. I inhale with deep satisfaction. It’s Christmas morning.

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Window To The Sky: Arches National Park

Window To The Sky: Arches National Park

The postcards do not show the smooth crater like a black hole threatening to suck the arch away into the center of the earth; nor the breathtaking and treacherous view beyond its keyhole. A rounded frame, it holds within itself the desert’s deadly beauty, which—akin to Galadriel in Lord of the Rings—bellows, “All will love me and despair!” My awe is tempered by caution as the empty deadness warns us of what we’ll become should we get lost or misstep.

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A Grove In A Graveyard: Capitol Reef National Park

A Grove In A Graveyard: Capitol Reef National Park

Travelers named this desert Capitol Reef before they’d known water once dwelt there. As we drive between the towering red cliffs that once barred ancient wanderers passage, I imagine marine wildlife swimming alongside us through the mummified ocean. Our campsite lies nestled against lush fruit orchards planted by Mormon settlers—an unexpected oasis amid the scorched, dry land; a grove in a graveyard. I smile at the familiar agricultural sight, as a horse trots picturesquely around the pioneers’ historic barn—so out of place against the copper desert backdrop.

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Bryce Canyon Trail Ride

Bryce Canyon Trail Ride

We descend into the spindles, gradually transforming what seemed a distant painting into walls that tower over us. At every turn, we discover new castles, monuments, windows, and valleys, all reaching their blood-orange fingertips toward the periwinkle sky. Can we really be just miles from where we started? For I feel as though I’ve been transported to Mars.

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A Mortal Among Seraphim: Hiking Angel's Landing in Zion National Park

A Mortal Among Seraphim: Hiking Angel's Landing in Zion National Park

The hot desert sun and thin mountain air have made good on their reputations long before we’ve even reached the base of the fin-like formation that juts 1,500 feet out of the canyon. I gasp for breath and wipe sweat from my brow, trying not to think about the sign we pass that warns me not to be the fourteenth fall since 2004.

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Fossilized in Time: Petrified Forest National Park

Fossilized in Time: Petrified Forest National Park

We hike a jet black trail into “Blue Mesa,” eroded hills layered in shades of muted mulberry and maroon, lined with vein-like cracks. Now, surrounded by dunes, all is quiet. You take my hand as we wind down switchbacks between the smooth-sided slopes, whose creases hold glittering fragments of petrified wood that wink at us like jewels in a mine.

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Chasing Ghosts on Skyline Drive to Shenandoah National Park
The Appalachian Way Home, Virginia Rebecca Loomis The Appalachian Way Home, Virginia Rebecca Loomis

Chasing Ghosts on Skyline Drive to Shenandoah National Park

I drive alone on black roads coiling like a snake ‘round misty blue mountains, rendered flat by haze, with nothing and no one for company but the blissful expanse of nature. I emerge from my parked vessel to stand in the middle of it and stare down a long, echoing tunnel that splits the cliff, tempting fate as the tremendous roar of an oncoming car reaches my ears. As I sprint to safety, the sound fades into the distant calls of crows and miniature waterfalls trickling down the mountain’s face.

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Florida Fishermen
Florida Rebecca Loomis Florida Rebecca Loomis

Florida Fishermen

A hazy fog has settled upon the endless line of ocean, chasing away the bikini-clad tourists and leaving only fishermen; the same fishermen, who appear like dew upon the rocks every morning before anyone can wake up to see how they got there. A light drizzle patters against the yellow raincoat of one. Five men cast their lines from every corner of their boat by a post in the bay, the same spot they fished yesterday; and I marvel that the aquatic occupants there haven’t learned to find alternative residence yet. 

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Fleeting, Yet Forever: Hiking Millbrook Mountain in Minnewaska State Park
Autumn in the Hudson Valley, New York Rebecca Loomis Autumn in the Hudson Valley, New York Rebecca Loomis

Fleeting, Yet Forever: Hiking Millbrook Mountain in Minnewaska State Park

By the end of today I will say to myself: “Why did I have to climb so high?” For my ambition will end in stinging blisters and aching arches as I descend this mountain; but for now, I ignore the warning voice that tells of temperance, and I rise. I rise to where the sky is wide as the sea, where birds fly below me and treetops—speckled with every shade of autumn—look like shrubbery. Here, I can see my mortality in the treacherous edge of the cliff, and my spirit in the hazy blue horizon. We are both fleeting, yet forever.

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A Delicate Dance of Death: Fall in New York

A Delicate Dance of Death: Fall in New York

I let the nutty flavor of columbian coffee with a hint of cream and sugar linger on my tongue after I sip it. The mug containing it warms my hands as I take a happy step towards the scene. Dried, curled leaves drift silently toward the ground, light as feathers, in a delicate dance of death. They are remarkably fragile underfoot, crackling as I bend and break their thin frames, like the flakes of a croissant.

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One Small Step For Man: NASA Space Center, Houston
Texas, Local Adventures Rebecca Loomis Texas, Local Adventures Rebecca Loomis

One Small Step For Man: NASA Space Center, Houston

Why do we look at the stars? Why are we universally gripped with wonder by specks on black? No difference occurs from age, gender, race, beliefs and background, or what moment in history we were destined to be born into. Lines of ancestors gazed with the same gaping mouths, at the same celestial mysteries, long before we could touch meteors and Mars rocks in the air-conditioned comfort of NASA’s space center. Long before we even knew the twinkling lights in the sky were stars.

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Shipwrecks of Lake Superior
Michigan, Michigan's Upper Peninsula Rebecca Loomis Michigan, Michigan's Upper Peninsula Rebecca Loomis

Shipwrecks of Lake Superior

I lean against the railing and watch the transparent floor below me with bated breath. Bubbles settle like washing machine suds against the glass, and I tip a little on my sea legs. Veins of sunlight penetrate the turquoise deep. Then, suddenly, the curved bow of a ship slices into view: a ship directly below our own. She drowned, frozen in a moment of tragic time, her pain preserved to indulge the morbid curiosity of my eyes.

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Feeding Trout at Horseshoe Falls
Michigan, Michigan's Upper Peninsula Rebecca Loomis Michigan, Michigan's Upper Peninsula Rebecca Loomis

Feeding Trout at Horseshoe Falls

We cross the creek on a pretty array of pedestrian bridges beneath tree branch archways, and I feel the temperature change as we leave the trickling falls. Their fresh smell lingers, and I can taste icy cold droplets in the air. As the sound of the waterfall dissipates, it is replaced by the melodic splashing of a nearby water mill. It draws us deeper into the diverse garden community, where there live sweet-smelling apple trees, paper birches, weeping willows, purple-leaved ferns, and pine trees with long draping arms that reach for the water of a pond filled with rainbow trout.

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