Where the Mountain Burns After Rain

My goal was to photograph the mountain amid a storm, but earlier attempts had failed in vain. Either the fog was too dense, obscuring everything; or the season wasn't right—early spring left the landscape bare; or the summer light was simply too harsh. Still, I was determined and sensed there was a better photo waiting. Heavy rain had fallen overnight, and that morning at the hotel I noticed patches of blue sky appear as the storm drifted east. I wondered whether the sun might break through in a dappled way.

I was heading out to a different location with water in the foreground, but before I arrived, I suddenly saw the mountain glimmering in the patchy light through the forest. I stopped and hiked to a small clearing. Rain had darkened and enriched the cliffs, and though it was late into the foliage season, the trees still glowed gold.

As I tended the scene, I offered my thanks to the mountain and the trees for revealing some of their secrets that morning. They had called out to me to stop and listen—and I had heard them.