Blog
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.
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.
Water & Color: Pictured Rocks Kayak Tour
We pass a series of giant pockets hewn from the side of the cliffs by ages of water erosion, creating the appearance of Swiss cheese. Water gurgles, erupts, sloshes, and spurts as waves push white bubbles in and out of the holes. The slapping surf echoes in a sound like animal-skin drums as the wave’s wax turns to wane.
Another Summer at Lake Wallenpaupack, PA
Baby fish begin leaping to catch a net of bugs that hover just above the water’s surface, and when they fall it looks like rain. Their silver bellies catch the light in paparazzi flashes about me. They do this at the same time every year—just like the baby toads that hop across the beach, and the tiger swallowtail butterflies, punctually filling the lake bushes with their delicate yellow wings each summer.
A Taste of Rivendell: Watkins Glen State Park, NY
The serpent ravine bloats and shrinks in billowing pockets hollowed out of the rock by years of erosion, smooth as the sugar of a well-licked lollipop. Each bowl is filled with emerald green pools caked with foam. Clattering echoes bounce between them amid the distant roar of rushing waves as I peer over the treacherous rim.