Alpine Aura

I snapped a picture from the heights. Our shadow, plastered on the pines, was captured forever in an image of exploration. I loved photography, it was an escape, a tool. I always thought myself an artist, someone who needed to share perspective, imbue point of view. Right now, as my uncle flies this little puddle-hopper over a sea of "never-to-be-found" foliage, the camera took my mind away from the fear, "oh god, oh god, we're gonna crash." Nope, only turbulence, crisis averted. As we reached our destination, (a little nothing town in upstate Washington) I looked through my camera's memory. Bland, bland, bland....but wait.
The plane in the pine. It spoke to me with a silent aura, an artistic flair. Now in the car, we drive to the nearest CVS, picking up supplies on our way to the cabin. Stopping at the photo counter printed and framed my prize, the original, "A plane in the Pines." I wanted the world to see, I wanted others to know. When we got to the cabin, I rushed in. Instagram, Facebook, email–all were tools in my arsenal of communication. I spread the image far and wide, eagerly awaiting similar reactions (the breathtaking fear I felt seeing the original). Yet...to my dismay, things were not the same. It was as though I tore a hole in meaning, tarnished the aura. No one cared, no one felt the same rush; it was as if through reproduction, I changed the image itself, art fled. (Walter Benjamin).
I walked outside with my uncle and was greeted by nature. Drowned in a flood of green, doused with pine scent, soaked in sunlight, I found the real art before my eyes.... growth.