Earth Image Photography, Nature Photography, My Summer Office

6:45 p.m.-

Rounding the curve upstream of the bridge, I approach a crowd of teenagers standing or climbing to the top girder, preparing to jump. I grab out the camera and slam the motor into reverse far enough back to get it all in. I get a shot of five boys standing on top, to have at least something. The motor swings wildly and pulls us sideways in the stream. I pay it attention, reversing the stern into hard current, hastily trying to get ready. They jump before I am set. I got something, but memory of that "click" recalls a tilted frame a smidge out of focus.

I anchored, hoping for a mob leap, even suggested, "Everybody hold hands."

A girl in a bikini climbs halfway up. Two boys, entranced by her bosoms, tell her she's chicken and a whippersnap-pussy. Though not quite in those words.

I pull anchor and drift under the bridge. The ringleader, a chubby sport in a wet white undershirt and navy blue veins, consults quickly with three other boys and they head for the far side. I emerge the bow out from under the bridge. Two huge bodies, one with an undershirt, streak silently downward three feet from the gunwale and stir up a cannonball splash over EZ who thinks that's great fun. Another two boys leap a second later and splash down two feet away. But they're both slender and don't wet me at all.

Pink bikini girl leans over the rail.

"C'mon, jump!"

She ignores me and grabs a metal brace and swings out, "I'm fuckin' swingin' like a fuckin' monkey. I'm too drunk-fuckin' scared to fuckin' jump," is what she says.

I blush and give it the gas.

8:21 p.m.-

Mother mallards with brand new chicks stick with them, no matter what. Going fast I came up on a group, slowed to an idle as they six headed for river's edge.

Humidity is back at 93, temperature 76.

Lots of distractions in the office tonight; frog-fish Olympics. The same frog and fish, I am sure, just playing catch.

Sky is cloudy and the air is still. A rest from the play day hurry of bright sun.

EZ has not had pain pills today, and she's perkier than when she is under their influence. Yesterday, as an experiment to experience the effect of Percoset (I may have had a crick in my neck) I took one while at work. Nothing happened. But I got into a real good mood for a spell. Then dragged myself yawning for the rest of the day. So I'm going to save them from EZ until it is obvious she needs help and lots of sleep before her big sleep.

I wonder about a soul's personality when death shuts down its mechanical function. It's unreasonable that those peculiar, individual and unique characteristics of a living soul would simply obliviate at death.

EZ has personality. She knows things, like scooting her butt end ahead when I, before closing the car hatch, peek in first to see if her tail is out of the way. Or that the ejecting click of the Computer's Zip disc means "leap up," because we're going outside. She watches me from the back of the car and knows to start barking with excitement when I look at her in the rear-view mirror, even while wearing dark glasses and she can't see my eyes see hers.

We think, "just a dumb dog." But I think she knows much more than I, limited by humanity, expect.

Maybe she thinks, "Dumb human," when I can't comprehend what she takes for granted as obvious.

Enthusiasm. She bounces up and down outside the screen door when she sees me draw near it. And never stops loving being loved. Especially when visiting daughters endlessly pet her neck. And going to the vet, where she crazes herself silly to see the nurses, and endears herself with sneezes and kisses and charming big toothy grins.

The same with people, who have a soul too. Whether baptized or not, our spirit, or soul, or whatever prestigiously religious term is used, will go on endlessly. Just because we can't imagine possibly how, doesn't mean it can't, or won't.

We are looking for the one all-time Truth, as though there is one. There is no Truth about afterlife, as though one Baptist black tie, or other Mormon Monk has final full knowledge, or has finally deciphered the secret. It's no secret. Afterlife is what I've been living and dying each day and won't be so odd, because we do it every day. Truth is exactly what we make it. We see what we want and make up for ourselves what is, and what is to come. Physicists investigating quantum mechanics are held to task by disparaging colleagues, "Will string theory succeed?" as though if it does all other theories must fail as false.

No so.

The universal truth of life's meaning will, after death, turn out to look exactly as we think. To the mathematician it will involve complex infinite formulae. To the physicist it will fit perfectly with quantum mechanics or general relativity, whichever arena of persuasion. To the humanist it will all hinge on interpersonal courtesy. To the religious it will involve matters of fastidiously practiced dogma. To the financier the universe will be held together by schemes of profit. To the mild mannered it will be powered by humility and trust.

To an atheist consciousness will cease to exist.

I have no special interest in pearly gates and being welcomed at them by past dogs and dead fathers. I enjoy EZ. We know each other's habits and hearts. She's learned me and I her. But that's all there is supposed to be. And it ends, for now.

But, where does her wag go when she dies?