The alarm rings at 3:45am. Cursing under my breath, I hit the snooze button, wondering for the umpteenth time if it’s worth waking up this early on the weekend, when it’s still cold outside, and dark - pitch dark. A 40 minute drive gets me to a dusty pull out beside the lake, and a quick 10 minute scramble down a steep incline and over mis-shapen boulders brings me to the edge. The water is dead calm and there is barely enough light to make out color or form. Slowly it begins. First, a chill wind, gentle enough to not disturb the surface of the lake, yet firm enough to nudge the clouds across the sky. And then, the horizon to the east lights up, brushing blue-gold streaks above and around me, painting in a scene that will be as fleeting as it is beautiful. That’s when I remind myself. It is worth it. Always worth it.

There are four dawns to a day. The first is barely noticeable, giving itself away only as it lightens a black night sky. The second solidifies structure and form, as darkness is peeled away to reveal horizons and shapes. The third breathes color, not the vibrant kind, but shy, quiet hues; playful, like a tease. The fourth is bold, decisive, and sudden; it paints with broad strokes, of light and heat.

And a new day is born.

The sun sets and casts its brilliant soft glow on Mt Shasta and Castle Lake as seen from Heart Lake.

Her legs ached with the effort, her parched throat felt like coarse sandstone, and her brow beaded with sweat at that afternoon hour as she ascended the rocky incline. She could not turn back, not now, not after two days on the path, so close to the end. "Follow the river, the river will lead you there", was what they had told her, but she could vividly recall their muffled laughter as she had turned around, and her face flushed with emotion. But she heard something else now, and it sounded like a gushing song of promise. Half running, half stumbling, she flew over the uneven, loose rocks towards her goal. 

Kneeling beside the shimmering cascade, she wept, and her tears became one with the flow. As the glen quieted down, heralding evening's arrival, she dipped the tip of her finger into the sacred water and anointed herself with the cool liquid. Now she could return, now there was peace. The wolves would come out to hunt in the twilight, but she did not care. The water had given her peace, she could feel that peace.

Standing at the edge of a cliff just a few miles outside a little town in Arizona, you are treated to this magnificent view. The stillness of the emerald water belies the ferocity of nature as the Colorado River, meandering a thousand feet below, cuts deep into the rock to create this unique horseshoe bend. As the final rays of a setting sun bathe the rock face in its warm glow, a chill wind picks up to herald the arrival of another day's end.

When that season rolls around, as the sunlight falls just right, and the crowds are thinning - they leave you alone, where the crevices begin to get tight. That is a sight that must be seen, to understand what it's like. Like seeing your world dipped in melted golden caramel.

What was written in ages past
On shifting sands of time
Has neither ground nor anchor
No permanence, 'tis no wonder
That learned sages and sciences
Talk of rock, to approach forever
For the wind, it changes all
And sand is constant never.

This land has seen untold ages pass. This land has consumed the fore-fathers of our ancestors, embracing the shell that once was, rejuvenating decay to life that will, one day, be. This land - solid, unyielding, stoic; a calm facade that belies roiling chaos churning beneath the surface. A violent anger eager to tear through rock like delicate lace, bringing forth fertility, virility, and newness. We are, but wanderers on scar tissue.

This land has seen untold ages pass. This land has consumed the fore-fathers of our ancestors, embracing the shell that once was, rejuvenating decay to life that will, one day, be. This land - solid, unyielding, stoic; a calm facade that belies roiling chaos churning beneath the surface. A violent anger eager to tear through rock like delicate lace, bringing forth fertility, virility, and newness. We are, but wanderers on scar tissue.

In silence, in solitude
Shall lie your strength
A world cursed with storm
May your calm help still
To all who seek comfort
And safe harbor this night
Let your guiding light
Bring warmth, and hope
At first sight

Many ancient cultures embrace the practice of embarking on a journey of self-discovery, seeking out meaning and purpose in life to attain a state of enlightenment. A journey that brings with it the ravages of loneliness and hardship - crucibles that forge and temper the traveler's will and self-awareness. A journey that, like any other, begins with a first step.

Taughannock Falls after a light summer rain. Probably one of the most photogenic falls in the Finger Lakes region in upstate New York.

Dreams on plastic layers,
Smiles on hollow bone,
West, where vice is sacred,
Brittle and alone,
A melting pot of flavors,
Wild eyed stirred with rich,
Welcome to the city,
Beneath the bridge.

The alarm rings at 3:45am. Cursing under my breath, I hit the snooze button, wondering for the umpteenth time if it’s worth waking up this early on the weekend, when it’s still cold outside, and dark - pitch dark. A 40 minute drive gets me to a dusty pull out beside the lake, and a quick 10 minute scramble down a steep incline and over mis-shapen boulders brings me to the edge. The water is dead calm and there is barely enough light to make out color or form. Slowly it begins. First, a chill wind, gentle enough to not disturb the surface of the lake, yet firm enough to nudge the clouds across the sky. And then, the horizon to the east lights up, brushing blue-gold streaks above and around me, painting in a scene that will be as fleeting as it is beautiful. That’s when I remind myself. It is worth it. Always worth it.

A fleeting slice of twilight
Aqua tempered hues
A hushed, quiet celebration
With mesmerizing views
Like sand through cupped fingers
A silence some can hear
Time and tide and light
Travel onward too soon

On a hill, far away...

A gorgeous spring vista somewhere in the Bay Area. There is a fleeting weeks-long period, after the first rains and before the onslaught of summer, during which the entire country-side is carpeted in green. Couple that with an approaching hailstorm during sunset and you can almost imagine, dragons.

The Antelope Canyons in the American southwest is a fascinating area to visit. Intricate caverns carved out by flash floods roaring through sandstone facades allow sunlight to filter in and paint the grainy walls in hues of purples, yellows, and reds. It is easy to see why the Navajo people consider this place sacred.

The best thing about sunrise landscape photography is the waiting. Waiting for the sun to rise and cast its soft glow on the scene. Waiting in the bitter cold, nursing a travel mug with hot cocoa. Waiting and hoping that the fog will linger on for a few more minutes. The second best thing, is the breakfast that follows.

There's something magical about blue hour, that span straddling the cusp between daytime and nighttime, as twilight's fingers brush away the harshness of day, and the city lets down its hair in a thousand sparkling pinpoints of light. The sun may have set, but we have the night!

A voice like honey, like fire inside,
Like water and whiskey burn,
Grab me with those piercing eyes,
My soul screams at every turn.
Over and over and over I seek,
A thrill, and a rush, and a high,
Fire and ice, you’re sugar and spice,
Tonight I burn, I burn inside.

Blood, sweat, tears, steel, paint, light. The makings of magic.

A lone bench overlooking an expanse of water as the sun slowly sets, just whispers of loss, and loneliness.

Red sky in the morning
Red sky at night
The first, a dire warning
The last, pure delight
Change is never easy
And weak out-voice the wise
A word of warning, read the signs
For a storm brews tonight 

The light was fading fast that day. To the west, a rapidly setting sun painted the sky yellow-orange, a fiery hue that faded to a deep purple tone as the eye tracked east. The firmament above lent its brilliant gradation to the surface of the lake as the water below reflected this gorgeous coloring. 

Sometimes, it is the simplicity of a scene that captivates.