I am looking for inspiration, that which has been missing in my photography for the last year and a half. This will take some time, I know; for now, it's a matter of reminding myself to be patient as I open my eyes to the new equilibrium upon which the world will settle.
Mountains. They're always a good source of inspiration (and not because they keep having points named "Inspiration Point"). It's the fresh air and that perfect orange glow at sunset that set the stage. It's also reminiscent of some of my earliest photography-related memories, where I would plant myself on the alpine trail so that I could bask in the middle of it all: learning the photographic process, operating the camera and determining the proper footing on the unfamiliar terrain. Years later, I find myself retracing my steps, traversing the roads and trails, strained from wear but still very recognizable, the hills and trees, some burnt but otherwise rejuvenated with new undergrowth, and the sky, still the same clear blue sky from my memories, a sort of synesthesia of my youth.
I arrived at sunset, but the goal was to remember, not to photograph or chase the fading light. I could see the flurry of animals in the twilight, a gray fox and a mule deer, and a flickering of wings through the streaming rays of light through the bristly pines. I replay the memories of exploration while standing at that intersection. The juxtaposition of past and present halts time for the moment, and I observe the duality from this arbitrary reference point as the two frames begin to diverge.
Here are a few images from the evening. To be more exact, there were fewer than ten images captured during this time, a consequence of my quest to remember the past as clearly as the present by standing in the same places and looking at same the breathtaking views, feeling the cool breeze wisp past me and over the next peak on its way back around to greet me on my next visit.