Ember hollow
Rippled grey sandstone in shadow before a hollow of glowing red rock.
Where the camera stops describing and starts painting — motion, texture, and reflection pushed until the landscape becomes shape and color.
Rippled grey sandstone in shadow before a hollow of glowing red rock.
Straight up from the cool of the shade — two arches of red stone holding a piece of sky, and the sun burning through the gap they leave.
Arches National Park, Utah, 2019
Antelope Canyon running like water through stone — crimson folds parting around a crest of white silk, an ember of daylight burning somewhere below.
Goblin Valley, Utah, seen the way its residents might see it — through a window melted out of the rock, a crowd of stone mushrooms milling under the clouds beyond.
Deep in the slot the light collects like molten metal — striped stone bending around a window of pure fire, the canyon keeping its own forge.
The Wave at Coyote Buttes — desert dunes that hardened mid-motion ages ago and never stopped rolling, the sun breaking over their crest like spray.
Bryce Canyon compressed to pure rhythm — rank behind rank of hoodoos, the backlit spires burning like candles against walls still holding the night's red.
Below the Vermilion Cliffs the badlands come striped — rainbow hills banded red, rose, and ash, wearing a crown of ember-red stone and the last of the snow in their folds.