The Path of No Path

Last Summer Sitting together on the banks of the Truckee My best friend Shelly, ageless wisdom beaming from her fifteen year-old eyes,  “You really can, you know, tell by the sound of it, that is, whether a stream is  happy or sad.” Sitting in silence together, on that warm summer day, waiting, watching  the sunset over Donner Lake.  Thirty-seven years ago. Shelly’s words, spoken in one of those timeless, powerfully subtle, almost deniably so, life altering moments, awakened me. I answered the ringing phone, and listened. A compelling conversation between me and the natural world. The writer, photographer; as witness, was born that day.  The deeper the passion  the more resounding the  crack  when hidden chasms  finally open.  That ominous,  hideous, marvelous rumbling crescendo  as the high mountain dam bursts.  Words and ideas  as free as the once trapped waters, gushing, swirling,  violently crash onto the paper. Our parents, district attorney, stockbroker, gynecologist, aerospac