A turkey hunter, in full camo gear, helped me decide that the place where I was headed was not going to be a welcoming spot for Saturday. I went north a mile instead and didn't suffer a bit. Down near the horizon, the sky was vibrant with color, and once the sun rose I went down to the banks of the river to take a walk and see what I could see.
The air was colder than the water, so a fine mist rose from the Big Sioux; but the naked morning sun pulled out color I haven't seen for some time. I'm always amazed that whatever shots I take don't capture the beauty that was there. Maybe that's what pulls me back every Saturday morning I can make it: I try to do the impossible--capture the art of the Creator of Beauty.
But then, in many ways, don't we all?
I'm not sure if that turkey hunter got what he was after. I did hear a couple of shots. Mine didn't make a sound.
p.s. There are a few shots here from a Thursday night sunset. With classes over, I've been set free--sort of. Intermittent rains had filled the skies with all kinds of dramatic cloud structures for a couple of days, and the lure drew me out two nights. Wednesday was a wash out, but Thursday I hustled to a favorite place and grabbed a couple of inches of a spacious, gorgeous palette.