The snowbank expels a barely perceptible sigh of relief... The burning touch of sunlight has once again fled downslope, and it has survived one more day... Temperatures fall, and the expanse of white stretches itself as crystal structures hold hands to form bonds one more time, to watch the sunset together not as trickles of water compelled by gravity, but as sheets of ice that will hold spring at bay just a bit longer... Photographed March 2022.
You never know how deep is the water in the narrows till you wade in, then dare to bring your camera and tripod into the torrent with you. Photographed March 2022.
For years, researching the connection between the Sun's magnetic field and that of the Earth, I studied the aurora borealis. Magnificent arcs of an otherwordly green stretched across the sky, lazily moved southward, then, more often than not, exploded into a shimmering display that took ones breath away. Standing at the banks of the Virgin River, the Sun's last rays barely a memory, I hoped for a similar conflagration as the arc of a cloud moved across the sky. Would it be set aflame by those last rays as they lifted themselves from the landscape to the skies above? The answer was an emphatic, but ephemeral, yes...
