Steps

Steps
Great Sand Dunes NP, Colorado
Sunlight wedges the fabric of the storm system, stalled this morning below the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo. It lights an incongruous desert that nestles comfortably, cupped against a bend in the wall of summits. All that sand, waiting to be scattered, trapped by the range until eternity wears it down. Yesterday we watched as clouds let loose gray/black curtains of water randomly over the vast prairie of the San Luis Valley, sometimes on the dunes, and sometimes on us. I can see part of that cloud mass to the north, obliterating the mountains; the rest is above my head, the source of the shadow I walk through. I have come here enough times here that it has become a pilgrimage for me, although most of my images are from ridges and mounds. I am surrounded by foot steps. The sand holds the divots of shoes in almost every conceivable square foot it seems. Farther out, they deface the windward and leeward slopes. Even the dune field itself rises in steps, sand ramps to navigate. Behind me, my own tracks dog me...physically and figuratively, I have a long and twisted journey to this series of exposures. Wild places exist in degrees of remoteness, and I long for the days when they were more pristine, less trampled. Ever pragmatic, I subtract myself from culpability in that. The wind starts up in earnest, blowing sand off the crests, raging against human progress. For a moment I linger here in the shadows, grateful I will soon be in the light.

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Steps<br />
Great Sand Dunes NP, Colorado<br />
Sunlight wedges the fabric of the storm system, stalled this morning below the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo. It lights an incongruous desert that nestles comfortably, cupped against a bend in the wall of summits. All that sand, waiting to be scattered, trapped by the range until eternity wears it down. Yesterday we watched as clouds let loose gray/black curtains of water randomly over the vast prairie of the San Luis Valley, sometimes on the dunes, and sometimes on us. I can see part of that cloud mass to the north, obliterating the mountains; the rest is above my head, the source of the shadow I walk through. I have come here enough times here that it has become a pilgrimage for me, although most of my images are from ridges and mounds. I am surrounded by foot steps. The sand holds the divots of shoes in almost every conceivable square foot it seems. Farther out, they deface the windward and leeward slopes. Even the dune field itself rises in steps, sand ramps to navigate. Behind me, my own tracks dog me...physically and figuratively, I have a long and twisted journey to this series of exposures. Wild places exist in degrees of remoteness, and I long for the days when they were more pristine, less trampled. Ever pragmatic, I subtract myself from culpability in that. The wind starts up in earnest, blowing sand off the crests, raging against human progress. For a moment I linger here in the shadows, grateful I will soon be in the light.