Photos: Experience Spiti Valley's splendor, in monochrome
Expectation is a foe
when patience isn’t a friend.
Only time could bid these clouds
and beckon this mist
over the Baspa River
Into the frame.
Patience is the spring
in the photographer's trap.
Any hunter would say the same:
One should expect
only what one is willing to wait for.
-Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Image by : Amit Verma
Hunting: Rakchham Baspa River
Expectation is a foe
when patience isn’t a friend.
Only time could bid these clouds
and beckon this mist
over the Baspa River
Into the frame.
Patience is the spring
in the photographer's trap.
Any hunter would say the same:
One should expect
only what one is willing to wait for.
-Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Once I cut out some magazine copy
that quoted the "O Pioneer!" author, Willa Cather:
“I like trees because they seem
more resigned to the way they have to live
than other things do."
I pasted the quote on a pencil box, and read it to myself for years.
Just be a Willa tree. Just be a Willa tree.
I lost that pencil box in a sudden move, and I lost my inner Willa tree, too.
Then I found these.
And I thought of my old friend Willa.
If only she had known magnificent rocks like these—rimrock,
she would have thought very differently of trees.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Image by : Amit Verma
Rock Paper Scissors: Chitkul
Once I cut out some magazine copy
that quoted the "O Pioneer!" author, Willa Cather:
“I like trees because they seem
more resigned to the way they have to live
than other things do."
I pasted the quote on a pencil box, and read it to myself for years.
Just be a Willa tree. Just be a Willa tree.
I lost that pencil box in a sudden move, and I lost my inner Willa tree, too.
Then I found these.
And I thought of my old friend Willa.
If only she had known magnificent rocks like these—rimrock,
she would have thought very differently of trees.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
“If you can imagine it,
you can do it,”
the saying goes.
So he does what he must do:
He waits.
For the grazing guests to draw nigh. Foreground.
For the mist to lift behind the knoll. Middle ground.
For the clouds to yield the light. Everything he imagined.
Sometimes the doing is in the waiting,
because timing is everything.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Image by : Amit Verma
Grazing: To Chandratal Lake
“If you can imagine it,
you can do it,”
the saying goes.
So he does what he must do:
He waits.
For the grazing guests to draw nigh. Foreground.
For the mist to lift behind the knoll. Middle ground.
For the clouds to yield the light. Everything he imagined.
Sometimes the doing is in the waiting,
because timing is everything.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
The end is not in sight.
The land feels as barren as it looks.
The slope is subtle, but still a slog.
Will we ever reach the other side?
If we knew what was there,
Would it quicken our pace or send us back?
Where is the point of no return?
Just keep one foot in front of the other.
You’re in the middle lands now.
You’ll learn to muddle through somehow.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
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Image by : Amit Verma
The Middle: To Chandratal lake
The grandeur of beginnings has faded.
The end is not in sight.
The land feels as barren as it looks.
The slope is subtle, but still a slog.
Will we ever reach the other side?
If we knew what was there,
Would it quicken our pace or send us back?
Where is the point of no return?
Just keep one foot in front of the other.
You’re in the middle lands now.
You’ll learn to muddle through somehow.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Sometimes light unfolds,
and other times it strikes.
Like lightning,
a severe and devastating light
can split a thing in two.
It rakes its jagged saw
across the thing,
It severs asunder
what was and what is,
what would have been and what shall be.
Rarely does such a light
ever strike the same thing twice.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
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Image by : Amit Verma
Light & Lines: Jispa
Sometimes light unfolds,
and other times it strikes.
Like lightning,
a severe and devastating light
can split a thing in two.
It rakes its jagged saw
across the thing,
It severs asunder
what was and what is,
what would have been and what shall be.
Rarely does such a light
ever strike the same thing twice.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
is the tree planted by the river.
Nothing bothers it.
It knows its roots.
They are deep and reliable and resilient.
Not a gust that snaps it,
not a dearth that parches it,
not even its own burial under the mountain
could worry such a tree.
Its roots are its hope and future.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
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Image by : Amit Verma
Rooted: Sangla Valley, Sutlej River
The quietest and surest thing
is the tree planted by the river.
Nothing bothers it.
It knows its roots.
They are deep and reliable and resilient.
Not a gust that snaps it,
not a dearth that parches it,
not even its own burial under the mountain
could worry such a tree.
Its roots are its hope and future.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
The long and winding one.
The one that leads me to your door
and back and back and back again.
I’m losing count of the times
we’ve left each other there,
always at the same bend.
At least we know our reasons
and where to find each other again,
always at the same bend.
It is the road that never disappears,
it just goes away and away and away for a while,
always at the same bend in the road.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
Image by : Amit Verma
The Same Bend: Kaza & Langza
This is that road the Beatles sang of—.
The long and winding one.
The one that leads me to your door
and back and back and back again.
I’m losing count of the times
we’ve left each other there,
always at the same bend.
At least we know our reasons
and where to find each other again,
always at the same bend.
It is the road that never disappears,
it just goes away and away and away for a while,
always at the same bend in the road.
Poem by Melissa Alipalo
