When something’s broken,
We may seek another course;
This may not remedy,
Choked in our throat.
Morning plays that fickle game; will I illuminate or not? Clustered, colliding, colossus; these ramparts were forged in the greatest kiln of all, they’ve withstood battles far greater than we can ever throw at them.
I shoot this at F/4 because I needed as much light as possible, as I was shooting without my tripod. I’d carelessly placed the tripod next to my 4Runner when packing up from shooting the Milky Way, and simply backed into, breaking one of the legs off. This image isn’t as sharp at F/4 as it would be at F/13, but I couldn’t pass up on the glow lighting up the rock faces.
It was cold, an unusual cast for Moab. The overnight rains, morning fog and persistent winds had cut through my outer layers. I wasn’t keen on missing any shots; driving so far, and not sleeping, and knowing the trip home will be just has long tends to skew my reasoning. I focus more and don’t dare leave without all the shots I can get. Sometimes those, it means I’m looking for shots that aren’t there, instead of content with what has been presented. I think forcing a shot is worse than missing one.
The sky was nasty, livid, it wasn’t happy this morning. Stifling the joy of the new day; it rolled away it’s misery, mean and discontent. Not all mornings are this sullen, but some moments are.