Seeing the Grand

A few mornings ago I stood on a hill outside Lone Pine, California,
   and watched the sun bring to life
      the unfamiliar landscape before me.
The sky glowed, then radiated.
Mountains shone in the distance.
In the foreground unusual rock formations competed for attention
   with their dark, dramatic shapes.
My shutter sounded steadily.
Too quickly, however,
   the sun’s rays burned brighter and brighter.
Saturated colors receded as heavy shadows intruded.
The beauty before me developed an uncompromising edge
   it didn’t have moments before.
So I turned away and wandered the nearby hills,
   finding places behind tall boulders
      where the shade still revealed subtle, alluring details.
Simpler shapes.
Gentler curves.
Softer hues.
This was such a contrast to the enormous panorama at my back,
   yet it was a revelation that called just as truly.
The expansive mountain vista had led me to breathe deeply,
   to photograph gratefully.
The existence of three close, coarse rocks though,
   revealed only partially through my camera lens,
      led me to breathe ever so quietly
         and to photograph as if I were receiving a blessing.
Indeed, that’s exactly what happened.
Three silent stones blessed, informed, inspired.
It was grand.