Beauty   That photo. The one you saved, all these years. Now of course hidden away, out of sight, but go find it, look, remember: you’re here again, you’re on the trail, climbing, it might have been an hour or so, Gap Mountain, up, up over rocks and roots, through forest thick with the brilliance of October, on up to the clearing so blandly marked View. Pick up your camera, snap the moment, snap lots of moments. But that’s the one, and there she is, half punch-drunk with the sun on Gap Mountain. The one you framed, stared at. Hid. Where? You know. Isn’t this what you said you lived for? So look — beauty stabs you like a shiv.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont August 2010