It's summer. But we still get a glimpse of the harsh terrain, in which these wild goats survive; here—a mother endearingly leading her baby along remaining snow in the mountains. I just wish I could witness them in their full glory once instead of covered in patchy shed hair. Yes, it's summer, after all.
From Above
Water running from the heavens--it seems--along the cliffs, all the way down to the ground, connecting the above and the below. 💦🏔
Geometry of the Mountains
Yesterday's hike went something like this, and the geometry of this image is giving me the shivers.
Spring in the Mountains
There is something peaceful about observing a spring storm roll over the Rocky Mountains, as a few remaining wispy clouds from a dissipating inversion are swirling over the tree tops below. Incoming rain is about to make the not-yet-verdant green just a bit brighter, and last autumn's earth tones suddenly shed their monochrome dustiness and gain impressionistic detail—until things dry again.
After the Rain
Little Dog, Giant World
"Remove these chains at once, mother! I must embrace my lupine heritage in all this freedom!"
The Way the Wind Blows
Today, my trusted (but needy!) canine and I briefly visited one of the national parks in the area on what looks to be one of the last warm days of the season. Mandatory "pics or it didn't happen" image is as follows:
Places like this are always fun to photograph with a fisheye lens—that I've yet to process—but my smartphone captures aren't too shabby. Of course, it is Nature that does most of the work.
And, what's now becoming customary for me, though I'm still learning and experimenting: a looping timelapse documenting the subtle movements of golden autumn leaves on the shores of this glacial lake.
Autumn Hiking
When I first moved to the Middle-of-Nowhere, Rocky Mountains from a large metropolis resembling a box of concrete, I was surprised that autumn, especially its early phase, was considered a shoulder season.
After all, there is no better time to go hiking on a sunny day before the first snow arrives. It is warm enough to wear a t-shirt, yet breezy enough, even slightly damp, not to sweat. And the sights, no, the full-sense experience, is beyond imaginable, certainly beyond what a camera could capture.
So where are all the tourists?!
On second thought, all those visitors can stay home, leaving these boundless mountains to my possessive self. My possessive self and a couple of canine friends, to be exact. Bringing another human or two along isn't a bad idea either: make them carry that bear spray, in case a specimen trying to get plump for winter runs across your path.
And on one of those damp hopefully-bear-free forest paths, you might come across certain otherwordly sights.
Or was that just the interplay of sunlight and the shadows?
This part of the Rockies has every autumn color, but red, as the famed maple is not native here. No, my mistake, it does feature red, too: those huckleberry bushes drying in the sun.
Other than that, the landscape is dominated by the evergreens that are still, well, green, though no longer verdant, and sprinkles of aspen and tamaracks turning golden.
And a sea of blue.
Above and below.
Rocky Mountain Sunset
You know what makes a striking pink-black-and-yellow sunset even more so?
When you can actually see the clouds create fantastical shapes:
Autumn is Here
Withering grass, a chill in the air, and brooding skies whisper in unison: "Autumn is here."
