Leonard, soft & low

Fourteen years ago, in the summer of 2011, I traveled from Houston to Crested Butte with a close friend to photograph wildflowers. On our way to Colorado from Taos, we camped at the Wild Rivers Recreation Area, just north of the confluence of the Rio Grande and Red River. As we settled along the canyon's edge among ancient forests of juniper and piñon, the Rio Grande, 700 feet below, lulled us with its halcyon rhythm.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, and dense clouds rolled in from the east while the sun shone in the west. Turning around, I peered through the canopy surrounding our campsite and caught glimpses of shimmering earth and sky. I instantly reached for my camera and ran toward the open vista.

As the sun lowered near the horizon, a light rain began to fall, revealing the faintest hint of a rainbow. The quality of light grew with intensity, causing the rainbow to become more vibrant. The intoxicating scent of sage, mingled with the dampness of rain, filled the air with an earthy fragrance. Uninhibited, I laughed out loud, danced with abandon, and photographed the stunning, ever-changing scenes around me.

The luminous rainbow lingered as the sun descended, casting a warm glow across the landscape.

I stood in awe as fragments of light gently disappeared from the hilltops. The unique atmospheric conditions in the mountain scene created an updraft, adding drama to the unfolding weather event. After breathing in the view a few moments longer, I rejoined my friend at the edge of the canyon, reflecting on the beauty I had just witnessed.

Charmaine discovered a lovely spot overlooking the river, where she'd been relaxing with a book since I hurriedly left the campsite. We poured ourselves glasses of Pinot and welcomed the cool night air of twilight. Gazing upward, we noticed the moon rising well above the horizon, peeking through a cluster of clouds. I'd been so immersed in the unexpected weather that I'd forgotten about the moon. The full moonrise was a day away, the timing planned for our wildflower shooting in Colorado.

We sipped wine and chatted until a gust of wind swept in from the north, ushering in thunderheads that obscured the moon. Droplets of rain fell on our shoulders and splashed into our empty wine glasses. The rain intensified, accompanied by flashes of lightning that illuminated the distant landscape. I immediately placed my camera on the tripod, positioning the Cerro de la Olla hilltops in my frame. As the storm moved closer, the lightning strikes became more frequent. I wasn't fully prepared for the moment; my rain gear was in the car, and I hoped to capture the light show before I had to seek shelter. I promptly pressed the shutter, and the image I captured in one frame exceeded my expectations. I took another photo and ran for cover before the rain engulfed me.

We awoke early the following morning and enjoyed a sunrise breakfast and campfire coffee before driving northwest to Crested Butte. A clear blue sky and crisp air greeted us as we arrived in this charming mountain town, adorned with bouquets of lupine flowers in planter boxes lining the streets of downtown. We checked into our hotel in the ski area, which resembled a Swiss village, and then had lunch before exploring the wildflowers and scouting locations. Having photographed spring wildflowers in Texas for a few years, this was my first experience capturing the beauty of Colorado's flora. Crested Butte is renowned for its wildflowers, which typically peak in mid-summer.

I traveled to Crested Butte primarily to photograph lupines in the mountain vistas. Lupines are part of a genus of plants in the legume family and include numerous Texas bluebonnet varieties. The lupines were stunning, blooming in the meadows alongside wild iris, columbine, daisies, and many other wildflowers. We photographed for hours, capturing images until late afternoon.

I'd chosen an ideal location to capture the moonrise, envisioning it as a perfect blend of the soft, warm light of golden hour, the vibrant colors of the wildflowers, and the silhouette of Mt. Crested Butte. Unfortunately, I misjudged both the scene and the weather conditions, resulting in a mediocre image. The moon was scheduled to rise well after sunset the following evening, in total darkness, which meant the opportunity for a satisfying image was lost. As we returned to the hotel, I couldn't help but feel upset by this experience, especially since I'd planned the trip around the full moonrise, considering it a crucial part of my photographic journey.

Exhausted and disappointed, I collapsed into bed just after midnight, setting my alarm for 5:30 a.m. to photograph wildflowers in a lovely sunrise scene in the untamed terrain of the town's historic cemetery. After a few hours of restless sleep, I was startled awake at 4:00 a.m. by a bright light shining through a small opening in the curtain directly across from my bed. Still ruminating over my failed attempt at capturing a moonrise photograph and my lack of sleep, I assumed it was a streetlight strategically placed to irritate me.

As I got out of bed to close the curtain, I was instead embraced by the bright, guiding light of the full moon descending. It was a beautiful, joyful vision. Chills coursed through my body as my spirit awakened and lingering grievances dissipated. I lay back in bed, gazing at the moon a few moments longer until she hid behind the mountain.

Attempting to sleep proved futile, so I decided to get up and go out alone under the cover of darkness. As I approached my destination, a pinkish hue emerged with the dawn while the sun lingered below the horizon. I was heading east toward the cemetery when I glanced over my shoulder at the western sky, and there she was, in all her full moon glory! Being close to moonset, I quickly crossed two lanes on a curved road and pulled over to the shoulder. My heart raced as I jumped from the driver’s seat, barely coming to a complete stop. I opened the back of the car, grabbed two cameras and two tripods, and felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

All elements aligned, culminating in a serendipitous moment free from conscious thought and deliberate action that placed this bounty at my feet. I was awakened by the moon's brilliance, feeling her gentle nudging and sensing I had no choice but to listen and receive. I captured my moon shot, though not in the way I'd hoped for or planned.

Amid this splendid moment, I heard Leonard singing soft and low ... "Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack, a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in ..."