Ute Valley, Colorado

Ute Valley, 2 October 2008. I can be enthralled by the exotic, but I have an abiding affection for the familiar.

Familiar places, familiar sounds, familiar people--they whisper that I should soon be on my journey home. Knowing them so well--like the smell of cooking bacon--I can tell what has changed: the moved furniture, the broken wheel on a bike, the wearing off of paint, the lines that have formed in a face.


Today was a return to the familiar with my brother Greg, who had traveled a thousand miles to be here. I, on the other hand, live less than a mile from where these pictures were taken. My dogs and I know the place well, as do friends who live nearby. But they do not know this particular place, the place I saw on this particular morning with my particular brother at this particular time with my particular eyes.

This place, the one captured in these and other images, is already gone. It was mine for a brief time, marked by the repeating sound of a camera's shutter release. A piece of it disappeared with each press of my finger.

Perhaps this is what I love most about the still camera.

It stops time.

First Snow, Queen's Canyon

Wednesday, 22 October 2008. This was my second exploration of the morning. It began with seeking out images of the light touch of snow in Garden of the Gods. The first snow of indian summer fell on Colorado Springs last night. I set out early, alone, to see what might remain of this mantle of white.

As it had been in the Garden, mine were the only footprints in Queen's Canyon; I was the first human visitor over the fresh snow. It was cold, and I took careful steps in the many stream crossings that were required to reach the falls and beyond.

Autumn and winter were greeting one another. Leaves of the deciduous trees and shrubs had fallen into the stream. They were gathering together on the downstream side of pools.

About an hour into the canyon, a young man carrying a Bible caught up with me. We became companions. We discussed photography and his upcoming mission to Haiti as we threaded our way over rocks and stream and fallen trees. His name was Steve. I took one picture of him. He was pondering from a high perch above the falls. I hope he will be safe in Haiti; it is a dangerous place.

Small things stood out this morning, and they became my dominant subjects.

First Snow, Garden of the Gods

Wednesday, 22 October 2008. The first snow of indian summer fell on Colorado Springs today. I set out early, alone, to see what might remain of this mantle of white in the Garden of the Gods, before the morning sun warmed it off the rocks.

Mine were the only footprints in the Garden. It was cold, mostly due to wind chill: My mittens came on immediately after each shoot, and I took careful steps over hard surfaces where beads of ice had formed overnight.

Autumn and winter were greeting one another. The snowfall had been light, and the leaves of the deciduous trees and shrubs were just passing through their peak of color. Indian summer was bowing out gracefully.

I have seen beautiful pictures of the Garden in winter, but I do not remember having seen pictures of so light a touch of snow as I saw and photographed this morning. There is no place on earth where I would rather have been. I hope my work conveys some of this joy to you.