After my parents and only sister had died, I hiked in their memory on a trail that we had often enjoyed as a family long ago, in the White Mountains, New Hampshire. At its most dramatic point, the path emerges from the cool, dark forest onto The Ledges, an expanse of steep granite shaped by eons of fierce winds and winters. As I stepped onto its dazzle, convulsive tears overwhelmed me. When my eyes opened again, its shapes and shadows struck me as animate, starting with the dolphin in #4. Nature, now human, cultural, and personal, was charged with metaphors and meaning. Hallucinations? General pareidolia? The primitive camera could not stop me. Twice since, I have returned to the mountain for more. Although that extreme proved irreproducible, enough of its seeing persisted to yield more photographs.