In some esoteric teachings, Zion is referred to as a spiritual point from which reality emerges. Also a fitting narrative for the brilliant red, cream and pink towering sandstone cliffs. This road I'd taken was home to a coral sandy ground, spring-fed waterfalls, hanging gardens and the magnificent Virgin River is also known as Zion. Zion National Park in Southern, Utah.

In a few days, I'll return to hike the Narrows and Angel's Landing. 

"The camera is a remarkable instrument. Saturate yourself with your subject, and the camera will all but take you by the hand and point the way"  Margaret Bourke-White

At the trailhead of my favorite hike, I often stand here perplexed. I am completely enamored with this scene but have yet to photograph it the way I truly "see" it. 

Each time...I study it, I look, I sit and stare, sometimes I'm content to just "be" with it. Other times, I know it's not my day and I walked past it. As I leave, I always look over my shoulder at it.

I love the stillness of the water, I love the color of the early morning sun on the canyon walls. So I'm convinced that this place holds for me a secret and the secret is ...

that somewhere in this scene is an absolute masterpiece and someday,

I'll find it

I use an Induro tripod and ball head in my photography and it

has no doubt simplified my shooting process.  It's been dragged through the 

mud and snow, banged, beaten and taken a licking. Still ticking.

I was recently interview by Marisa Getz of the Induro Company about my

photography and the article is featured on their blog. 

I'm very grateful for the exposure. 

Thanks to the kind people at Induro for

taking an interest. 

Click Here To Read Article 

Photo by J. Lewis

"The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything".

Nietzsche

 
 

Love

"Let the beauty of what you love, be what you do. Rumi"

“Life is all about timing... the unreachable becomes reachable, the unavailable become available, the unattainable... attainable. Have the patience, wait it out It's all about timing.” 
― Stacey Charter

Outdoor Photographer Magazine

Featured Photo for the Cloudy Days "Assignment" gallery. 

It's scary being loved. Because life is complicated and all too often it throws you off balance by sending you the right person at the wrong time.” 
Guillaume Musso

Me

I had a couple of hours to come up with a bio and photo of myself for a photography project I was working on.  To be truthful, I knew I had to do it but procrastinated hugely.   I was actually on my way out to hike with my dog and had to turn around when I got a email  to "get it done" today.

Even though at one point in my life as California beach girl, I actually did some print work. I was never prepared for the industry.  I'd been "scouted" one day at a gym and didn't give it much thought.  A "particular" shot went viral on AOL and driving one day in my car, I actually heard the local DJ's talking about my photo, I became suspiciously fearful of the attention. I loved the photography but after a while, the act of having the camera pointed at me created a full-blown phobia. I have no idea why, I just know the anxiety it produces. If you want to get rid of me, you'll never have to insult me, just aim a camera at me. I'm gone.

Being around other photographers who love to just point and shoot at ya, I will always politely ask, No tags, no photos, please.  How do you explain such a fear.  At a breakfast meeting with a group of photographers, one literally sat across the table and aimed his lens at me, while I tried to eat, trying to get candid shots of the meeting. I left.  I now avoid meetings, meet-ups, anything like that, and yes, I know it's my loss. 

After delving into a crash course in self-portraiture this weekend, I realized the whole time, my heart was pounding!  My naive notion that as my photography was getting more and more exposure, I could still live an anonymous role as just the person behind the camera , behind the pen, was starting to break apart, into reality. Especially with the advent of social media, obscurity is an obscure idea.  Recognition happens, albeit uncomfortably. 

I completed the task at hand, sent off my bio and photo. Hoping, maybe, I'll never have to do that again. Now, I can just go back to wandering the trails, meandering with the dog and exploring the land and learning photography technique. When I am behind the books, behind the camera, behind the computer, behind the words, I'm much more comfortable.  Being small in a big wonderful natural world feels right. I loved the feel of my recent trip to Zion, walking the canyon floor in the valleys among the towering cliff walls there was a wonderful feel of insignificance. This is where I find comfort.

My favorite of the self-portraits is this one. To those who have said, "Step out from behind the camera!"  I say this: As in life, I've given the camera, symbolic of my photography, the spotlight.  As in the photo, I see myself as simply the girl behind it.  I'm not hiding, just content to be quiet, understated and observe. Introspective and at times introverted. With one eye, I see the world as it is and with the other, I see the world behind the lens. There are two very different worlds I live in. 

 Beautiful amber light from the afternoon sun brings forth the element I most often seek and love to capture, the warm glow of natural light. Perfect side-light now seen falling on auburn hair, a gift from my mother.  This is me.

The Sonoran Desert: Alive

My life and photography are all about living in the Sonoran desert among the saguaro and javelina, the coyote and quail. 

The desert has a unique kind of beauty: vast, sparse, ancient, and enduring.

 I love the spectacular sunsets and the spicy smell of the creosote shrub after a long-needed rain. I admire the resilience and hardiness of desert  which still somehow manages to reveal a fragile delicate side now and then when the wildflowers lay down

 and blanket their color in a fleeting season. 

Photographing the desert for me this last year has been a huge challenge. It's an
area I'd like to work on more, strive this next year to improve compositionally.

The desert can be moody and dramatic, hot and cold, dry or deluged,

 barren or bursting in wildflowers and life.
Splashed with an amazing palette of colors at any given season,
 I've yet to ever witness the desert landscape to be  barren or unbeholding.

It's rich with life, alive with the sounds and songs that play in the early morning hours and before the desert sleeps. 

It's a fascinating journey of life cycles and season changes.

It is my backyard.

                                                                                                                                                                  

      Nice write up from the very cool peeps at 

The Photo Brigade.

The Song Of The Canyon Wren

The 10 mile hike starts with a dramatic drop into a sandstone rift in which a series of switchbacks start and after just 1 mile, it has descended 2000 feet to the dry wash in the bottom of Hualapai Canyon. I found the trail itself to be extremely beautiful. In the first 3 miles you are exposed to the sun with no landscape respite. For the next 6 miles, the trail follows the gently sloping wash as the canyon drops down through the red layers of Supai sandstone. Soon you come to the end of Hualapai Canyon at its junction with Havasu Canyon.  The landscape changes here at the bottom of the canyon as a gushing river emerges from the ground at Havasu Springs. Willow, tamarisk and cottonwood trees now offer some welcome shade and a sign alerts you to the Havasupai village of Supai.

Exhausted, hot and dehydrated as I walked into the village, it felt like I was walking back in time, leaving the modern world behind. Quietly and reverently I walked through the village homes and farms, petted the horses and noted something unique, the melodic constant background song of the canyon wren.

Havasu Falls

There really isn't anything that can prepare you for the first sight of Havasu falls. It's simply nature in harmony with perfection. A 100 foot waterfall that crashes into a gem-like turquoise pool amphitheater surrounded by lush greens. Dozens of smaller spill outs and blue-green mini falls cascade over small natural travertine dams on the periphery. 

My first morning I got up at 5 AM and headed out to Havasu Falls to shoot and had the place

to myself. Soon the sun became high and I laid back and rested against my camera backpack and just watched the falls. The mist was constant and soft against my face. I wanted to feel and hear the falls and nothing else. There is magic here and in the background, the song of the canyon wren. 

 Down the trail is Mooney Falls. Almost twice as high as Havasu Falls, the real adventure here begins as you descend down to the falls itself.  It's not for the faint hearted.  It's a perplexing maze of narrow caves, wet rocks, askew ladders, iron handholds, and rusted chains, all carved into and out of the 200-foot high sandstone cliffs. It calls out to my inner Lara Croft, and as scary death-defying obstacle courses go, it's unmatched. 

A minor mishap on the hike in (2 broken toes) left me unable to hike and photograph some of the areas I had planned on. Navajo falls being one of those areas. After some heavy first-aid tape applications I did manage a few good hikes, photography and even some night photography.

(Decent into Mooney Falls photo by Harry Ford)

Having had more down time than I expected when it became impossible for me to get my hiking shoes on anymore. I  spent some rather enjoyable time at the camp watching the squirrels pilfer the unattended tents. 

While others discouraged this behavior and scared the varmints away. I secretly rooted for them. I read, relaxed and chatted with the other hikers. I cleaned my camera gear and reviewed my shots.  I relaxed in the quiet of the mid-afternoon sun, in a tent that rustled when the wind came up, trying not to feel sorry for the loss of the hiking and photography time.

The constant song of the canyon wren played in the background and it made me think and it made me focus.  This place remains the same, we bring to it our own expectations. I decided not to make the trip about what I didn't do, but to see the adventure as the beautiful introduction, the preface, the prologue of the return to Havasupai and the song of the canyon wren.

 PHOTO OF THE DAY 

Nice write up by Christopher Robinson

Editor of Outdoor Photographer Magazine

View from the Moki Dugway in Southern Utah 

Mooney Falls

“There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you’d better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying"

Excerpt from "Just Listen"

The Painted Desert

The Painted Desert

 Arizona


I had an idea of where I was going but then again, I didn't. I knew what I wanted to see but never found it. I had traveled early and far and when I got out to shoot, it was very very cold and windy. I felt a bit lost, geographically and emotionally. My GPS kept wanting to send me down unmarked dirt roads and I felt myself fighting it. 

The proverbial angel and devil perched on my shoulders and we three 
constantly converse on these isolated trips.  Go home?  Blame the wind? 
Rationalize that my creative self had long left the conversation. 
This same thought or quote of something I once heard always ends this dilemma.

What if?

What if the next the shot you "would have taken"... would have been your best ever.
What if the next thing you saw completely dropped you to your knees?
Instead, you walked away. 

What if?

That thought has turned me around, woke me up, warmed my feet and hands, dried my eyes,
kept me company, kept me exploring and kept me on track so many times.

So down the dirt road I went. 

When I stopped and got out, I literally laughed out loud, wanted to drop to 
my knees. I stood there completely blown away, completely amazed. 
This is what I found.  
There was not a soul here on this windy morning.
The warm hand of a loving mother earth reaches out 
and touches my heart this day.

"oh impatient one"

What if?

Inviting, isn't it?

Below Mooney Falls in Havasupai

Photo by Harry Ford

Hiking down to Mooney Falls in Havasupai

Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, 
time is eternity.

Henry Van Dyke

The Mitten Shadow, Monument Valley, Arizona

Colors Of The Spirit

Ending one of the most spectacular Southwest winters I'd ever witnessed or photographed, I headed out to roam as the season transitions into spring.  Temperatures in Phoenix had warmed already into the 80's and I traded my down jacket and traction device laden hiking boots for lighter attire. 

Leaving in the pre-dawn hours wearing shorts, flip-flops and with coffee in hand, I was off into the lands of Navajo and San Juan County. It seems worlds away from the months I'd just spent trekking among the desert winter whites.  My mood is lifted by the sheer comfort of not having several layers of thermal wear on.  

Miles and miles of desert plains are now golden in the early Spring. The sky hints at a spring storm moving in and this delights my photographic sensibilities.  The Navajo horses and cattle graze in wide open spaces under heavy brooding skies.  Windows down, temps in the 70's and the warm sun in my hair,  I'm on the open road that I love. 

Monument Valley, Valley of the Gods, The San Juan Goosenecks and Muley Point are on the agenda but I'm game for revisions. I spent 3 days wandering around Monument Valley and the areas East of Kayenta. I camped out of my SUV and as I slept in my 4x4x "tent on wheels", I could see the buttes in the barely lit mornings. 

Almost too good to be true, more than I could have wished for, the photographer in me screamed,  "OH COME ON"!  

Right on cue, a spring storm rolled in. The massively beautiful dark drama kept me on my own "cloud nine".  The sandstone buttes took on a golden ochre glow and as the sun warmed one area the clouds draped the lands with sheets of deep purples and grays. All of this moved and rolled and kept it intense for hours and hours. In the late afternoons the winds would chime in.  The skies, the light, the colors and the wind whips it all into a Southwest symphony beautifully rendered by mother nature.  

   

The spectacular palette of the Southwest landscapes mixed occasionally with a bit of rain here and there would saturate the already intense desert colors of crimson, vermilion, orange, salmon, peach, pink, gold and yellow.

"Nature always wears the colors of the spirit" 

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Yes, it does.

"You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance, and write poems and suffer and understand, for all that is life."

Jiddu Krishnamurti

Beyond A Shadow

Two days a year in the enchanting landscapes of Monument Valley, a mysterious event occurs. The Mittens,  designated as the East and the West are two free-standing sandstone buttes  Two classic iconic symbols of Monument Valley. In March and September, the West Mitten's shadow will land on the East Mitten in a perfect reversed image. A photographers dream. When all the elements play well together, the sunset, clouds and a little magic, something truly spectacular occurs.

The  Monument Valley Tribal Park, which encompasses 92,000 acres of majestic buttes, desert colored spires and rock arches teeter the Utah-Arizona border. As I headed out to photograph, I wondered what it would be like to live here on this serene and hauntingly beautiful land. The bigger question became the meaning of the shadow. 

Monument Valley was relatively unknown until film director John Ford filmed the western classics "Stagecoach" and "The Searchers" here in 1939 and 1956. Even though  Zane Grey used the area for his locale descriptions in his book "Wildfire which published in 1916,  the movies iconified this area as the classic Western landscape. Long ago when the land was relatively unknown except to the Navajo, did the shadow have any significance I wondered.  Trying to find the secrets of the shadow were almost as illusive as the shadow itself. 

 I thought of Charly Moore at Overland Canyon Tours, the guide on my trip to Canyon X. Charly is quite knowledgeable in the local history and native people. He's one of the few non-Navajo allowed to serve as a guide on the reservation.  I contacted Charly and he got back to me after meeting with many of the Navajo guides and they had simply come up with nothing. 

I contacted  University of Utah's History Dept. and they put me in touch with Lorenz Holiday. Holiday is the owner of Moonlight Springs Ranch.  Lorenz is also a resident Navajo whose family has farmed and lived in the area for many generations. He often serves as a guide in the area as well.  He told me his grand-father had been a medicine man and would check to see if there was more to the mystery. Still, the mystery remained a mystery.

Sometimes at the end of a question, there is no answer. Sometimes a mystery is best left a mystery. On the designated day, I stood there waiting to "see" and photograph. The winds kicked up suddenly,  the shadow started to form at the base of the East Mitten. The fading sun casts a warm glaze of rich color on the surrounding buttes and the landscape glowed as the shadow crept slowly. For every inch it crept, I felt a smile do the same on my face.  It didn't matter now about a greater story. It's now a story, a time and a memory within me.

Suddenly, as if  illuminated by a candle in the wind, it went out.  The shadow was gone. Will it show itself again on the next date?  That could be the real mystery. 

The Mitten Shadow returns every year on March 30th and September 13th. 

Eat, Play, Dance

Fossil Springs, Arizona

Some of my favorite time spent in photography is the downtime in between the light from sunrise to sunset.  I've discovered  many ways to occupy my time. I'll explore, read, sleep, organize my camera bag, clean lenses, skinny dip (when applicable) but most often I find some way to have fun. Finding ways to amuse myself often results in some of the best hiking stories and often the most painful ones.

In Fossil Springs during the monsoon season I had photographed in the early morning but the sun became harsh and hot by mid-afternoon.  I wanted to wait till the late afternoon to see if the monsoon clouds would roll in, which left me with several hours to kill so I decided to climb a tree. Climbing the tree wasn't enough so I hung upside down by my legs like I used to do in elementary school on the monkey bars. All fine until I realized the whole tree branch was covered in ants, the biting kind, the kind that bite legs. After I plopped to the ground, the numerous ant bites on my legs became rather troublesome. I decided to take a dip, sans clothing.  I hadn't seen a soul in hours and I knew I was in a remote part of the creek.  I ditched the clothes and swam with the dog for quite awhile soothing my gnawed upon legs. I was completely relaxed and at peace. I crawled back on my rock I had been sitting on, got dressed and started combing my wet hair only to be horrified by the sight of half a dozen  middle-aged male kayakers making their way down toward my little pool.  They paddled past me, one by one saying hello. The last guy asked, "Did we just miss something?", with a huge grin.

Another memorable time, I was hiking in an area that was somewhat swampy.  I thought I had heard the sounds of baby birds crying. I started looking for a nest. I then realized that I only heard the noise when my feet touched the ground.  It was an odd sound, almost like a beeping, meeping cartoon-like sound and it sounded like dozens of them. It was starting to sound less like birds though.  As my foot tapped on the ground, they "beeped".  I tested it over and over.  I became fascinated with the synchronicity of it . I became the conductor of an odd little mysterious choir. 

It reminded me of the scene from the Tom Hanks movie "Big" where he's playing the BIG piano in FAO Schwarz. Fred Astaire of the swamp I became.   It was louder as I neared the marshy area by the lake.  I then realized that hundreds of little eyes were watching me from the water.  All I could see were their little heads. It wasn't baby birds I had heard,  it was hundreds of little baby frogs.  When I stomped they let out a little bleating sound then ducked underwater but would pop back up immediately to watch me. We amused each other for some time and then I packed up my gear and we parted ways. 

My photography has brought me to some of the most beautiful areas to witness and document. It also has shaped my character and helped me to learn things about myself I never knew.  When you shoot solitary as often as I do and have only the company of yourself, you learn to be your own best friend. It's lovely to have time to myself to contemplate the complexities of the modern world but most often when given extra time and a little bit of water, I'm gonna play. 

“Men do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing.” 

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Promises

"She promises herself adventure, new places, different views, a chance to get lost. 

She infuses her day with newness and wonder.

She brings a camera everywhere, notices the little things,
 gets a cup of coffee at a different cafe, takes the long way home.

She discovers so much unexpected joy.
 She begins to love the journey."

 by M.H. Clark
The Book  "I Am Her"

The Goosenecks of the San Juan river. You can see Monument Valley in the distant background. This shot was taken from Muley Point. 

Wide Open Spaces

Exploring the Southwest, it's these scenes that I've become so fond of. There is no sense of time. No hurried lifestyle, no rush, no push, no shove. Life simply is...It meanders at its own pace. It lingers and languishes. Many times I've pulled over along an empty road to eat or rest and become mesmerized by these visions of "Americana" and the calming effect of the silence of wide open spaces ♥

Warm Breeze

Hiking West Fork, Sedona, Arizona

The days are starting to warm and the calendar confirms we must bid farewell to Winter.  This does cast a minor melancholy mood. This passing Winter was no doubt most memorable. I was able to hike and witness the Fall colors around Zion National Park give way to dusty white scenes among spectacular canyon colors, exciting exploratory hiking, frosty farms and frozen rivers.  

I spent Thanksgiving around a campfire to the sounds of wild turkey, I saw the New Year ring in with fireworks at Bryce Canyon as the snow fell.

Bryce Canyon in a full blown Winter storm left me simply in awe and wanting to return this Spring to witness and photograph the hoodoos aglow with a warm setting sun. Standing at the bank of the Sevier River all silver and slick with ice, listening to the sounds of the frozen river moan and grind through the Southern Utah wintry white farmlands.  Spectacular grand landscapes and yet during the Winter months extremely isolated and quiet.  I'll never forget the feeling of standing out in these areas photographing with ne'er a person in sight, perhaps only cows for hours at a time and feeling so at peace and at the same time so happy to be out among such landscape perfection. I'll never forget this passing Winter that gave me so much inspiration. 

So the chill is leaving the air and landscapes are now turning green. Back to reveling in the warm breezes that dance through your hair and outdoor patios with coffee-loving friends.  Long pants and snow spikes are shelved and replaced by shorts and sandals. The morning air smells sweet now. My mind drifts toward wild flower hunting, green enchanted forests and wondering what those beautiful Winter farms would look like with green pastures.  

My mind wanders....it must be Spring.

Colorful History

Tucson's Barrio Historico

Most photographers on "assignment" pack up their camera bags and head out. Working on a project with journalist Roger Naylor for the Arizona Republic I needed to head to Tucson for the day. So I had to "unpack" my camera bag.  

Didn't need the bear spray, space blanket, headlamp, snow spikes, dry bags, extra socks, multi-tool. By the time I unpacked, I had a little pile in my room and OH how much lighter my bag was.  No tough landscapes today. (So I thought) 

My assignment: Photograph historic Tucson. First place I headed was the Tucson Art Museum. (Actually first place I headed was Starbucks)  I was pleasantly surprised how easy this part of Tucson was to navigate and how proud the Art District and the locals are of the history here. Rich in Civil War ties and the mighty railroad days of the wild west.  The kind folks of the Tucson Art Museum  handed me a map of the sites and pointed me to a painted line on the sidewalk that guided me to the many points of interest.

Mansion's on Main, Barrio Historico, The Art District, The Wishing Shrine, The Old Courthouse all within walking distance.  For anyone wishing to photograph the way cool painted adobe houses, it's  easy street.  Great restaurants and bakeries on the route.

My fav of course the  funky Art Deco adobe houses sporting front doors that are simply a form of artwork all their own. The detail that goes into the door panels and iron fixtures is unreal. The Presidio was also a must see. 

Looking back, I could have used the second pair of socks. Walking the trail is easy, walking the street all day was killer. 

My special thanks to Jane of Sentinel Carriage Company for being my pal for the day, giving me an awesome tour on her Clydesdale driven carriage. Jane's knowledge of the local history was unbelievable and totally fascinating. Thanks Jane.

Drifting Away

 Watercolor by Valerie Millett

I brought her good news and her face lit up. Her soft blue eyes, slightly closed by the huge grin on her weathered and tired face beamed with measurable warmth.  To see her smile, I felt a sense of relief. Knowing right now, this moment in time, that everything was good in her world, made everything good in my world.  She was leaving. She steadied herself, legs unsure for a moment and reached out to hug me.  It felt good to hug her.  She held on longer and paused to kiss my cheek.  She held my face in her hands and lovingly looked into my eyes, told me she loved me. I told her, "I love you", back.  As she left, she turned around and waved and looked at me as though she'd loved me an eternity. She left me, in tears.

She was not my grandmother, nor my mother. She was not anyone I'd ever met before until this morning. She was a surgical patient. She has Alzheimer's.

It goes with the territory, working in surgery with cancer patients of a certain age.  Most of them over the age of 60.  For me, the ravages of Alzheimer's is very familiar. It might as well be another form of cancer, devastating non-the-less. I liken it to a slow suffocation of a persons spirit, slowly taking a life yet occasionally letting the essence of the real person shine through, only to hide them again. I've seen it's face and it scares the hell out of me.  I've based my whole life on the meticulous cultivation of memories and often I wonder  if someday I'll lose that?   No doubt why I work hard at creating and chronicling, photographing this big wonderful world. I  try not to take it for granted because I know better.  I've seen the other side.  Will I someday simply not remember my own life? Will I drift into this darkness.

She left me speechless, standing in a surgical room, with tears in my eyes. She looked at me with such honest and genuine affection that I wondered who she thought I was. I thought about her all day, well into the evening.  I thought about how much, I enjoyed her today.  I had a few selfish hours of unconditional love and well... I loved it.   Her touch reminded me of my grandmother, frail and sweet.  Her loving caress of my face, reminded me of the mother I loved so.  How I missed being adored by her, how I missed being so loved by her.   I missed her affection.  I realized how much we take for granted the human touch, gentleness and kindness.

Working many years in the medical field has no doubt had an impact on my thinking.  I've had many years to contemplate the frailties of the human condition. It has undeniably shaped my priorities, my desire to savor my time in nature, enjoy my photography and keep a mind and heart mired in appreciation.   Knowing all too well how fleeting these experiences may be.  Usually these moments to ponder come out of my relationship with nature, out "in" nature often during hours of waiting or hiking.  Moved to deep thought and self-reflection by the sounds of the forest, or the creek but not often in the clinical setting. 

 The human spirit is a remarkably powerful thing. Even hidden under the ravages of Alzheimer's, she, for a moment, transcended her condition and her inner beauty beamed through her eyes, her brief warm and affectionate bit of communication with me, touched me profoundly.

Often while photographing I pay a special attention to clouds, I watch the clouds, noting how they drift  in and leave. Changing the scene from one moment to the next. Adding beauty then moving on, like the woman with the soft blue eyes, sweeping through my life with such impact and beautiful grace. Like her memories, gone in the next moment. 

Come Watch Winter With Me

What I had to say about this Winter, 

I couldn't have said it any better.

Silent Metaphors

"The greatest aesthetic beauty, the fullest power of expression, the real worth of the medium, lies in its pure form," 

John Paul Edwards

An Arizona Winter Scene 

With the days of Winter numbered I've been looking back on the season and recalling the finer moments and not so fine moments. This was my second Winter photographing and just the step-up in wardrobe made this year possible. I give a full standing ovation to my more seasoned mentors who gave enlightenment and saved my fingers and toes this year. The importance of this,  the ability to stay longer out in the elements which proved to be the winning element for my exploring an outstanding Winter.

I spent many many hours this season in the snow and ice. Treading untouched trails and wading through knee-high snow with no trails. Standing on ice, sometimes standing on thin ice. Icicles and frozen falls, silvery scenes and icy rivers.  The sounds of frozen water moaning and cracking as it made it's way downstream. I came to love the Winter treks as exhausting as they may have been.

I'll admit, my first foray into a full-blown Winter scene left me speechless and as a newer photographer a bit "dazed and confused".  Composing Winter scenes seemed almost impossible for me at first but with each encounter it made a bit more sense.  The photo above is one of my favorites this season and one of the last that I took.  For me, it sort of signifies the culmination of the learning process this Winter and reminds me of what I need to do better next year.

The education aside, the Winter season had a more significant impact on me emotionally than I had expected. Time spent, often hours, sitting in the snow and waiting for the snow to stop falling  or light to change or the wind to die down touched me profoundly. The hours of  silence. Often the scene would be almost pure white and the backdrop may have been only the sound of a canyon raven or wind moving through the trees. There is a softness and sometimes a sadness in the sounds heard in the lonely Winter landscape. Melancholy befalls me in these moments that will never come again, in these scenes never to be seen again. The silent awareness of just simply "being" in the midst of a grand Winter scene changed many of my views on photography more so the type of photographer I would be proud to be.

I never take lightly the lessons I learn in nature. What I came to learn this Winter was that true grandeur, true majesty, true landscape has no ego.  It simply is.  It doesn't call attention to itself, it doesn't pat itself on the back, its colors aren't amped and its sky is happening right now. It simply is. It isn't loud, it doesn't blare.

It is a whisper.  It is humbly and silently perfect.

In many ways, my experiences out in nature this Winter became metaphoric lessons for guiding my photography and how I view myself as a contributor.  It's a solitary personal journey to document the landscapes with great respect. To keep ego from obscuring my vision. To compete only with my own last shot and to continue to keep searching for the most  honest and amazing "moments" humbly and silently. To cherish the richness of the moment happening right now.

Beaver Creek, Arizona

Freshly fallen snow precariously clings to the branches.

As you wander in the midst of this scene it feels like another world. 

The branches of trees you've seen hundreds of times and dismissed now hang in beautiful prose.

Lace-like and dreamy, the wind catches the powdery limbs and the airy snow departs.

It hangs in the air but for seconds, swirls and dances and falls to the ground,

 like music ♥

Could there be anything more outstanding than Winter in an Arizona desert.

Coconino National Forest 

Oak Creek

The vibrancy of Spring may not be here and the color pallet of Autumn is missing. 

The landscape is dormant and stark, 
dreary and dark. 
It's cold and wet and sometimes hard to muster the spirit 
to move beyond the comfort of warm and dry.

 But there is an exquisite beauty in the somberness of Winter.

 The landscape is quiet and reverent, 
no boldness of color to scream out at you instead, 
the subtle hues draw you nearer and nearer
 to the whispering moments of 
"grace"