Imperfect

The landscape lay before me like a painting.
If there could ever exist a perfect painting, that is.

But no human creation could possess such beauty.
Such blend of form and function.
None.

Taking it all in, I saw the final photograph in my mind’s eye.
A beautiful piece of art, able to stir in the viewers heart,
the same emotions that I felt inside me.
A frozen moment in time,
capturing forever the brilliance of the scene before me.

It pained me though, to realize that I could never make that happen.
How could I ever capture the grandness of it all?
The smell of moss in the air.
The sound of grass rippling in the water by the gentle breeze.
Then softness of the ground.

No matter how good the gear,
or how advanced the tools,
I would not succeed.
No, a photograph would be but a poor portrayal of my experience
of nature’s magnificent spectacle

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