My Saturday Morning Catch

 I must have a dozen different poses of this particular tree, an oak, I believe, although I've never been close enough to see for sure. It's out there alone on just one of the rolling hills above the Little Sioux River. It's what I was thinking about actually, as I went out there Saturday morning. Even though I've photographed it time and time again, there's something about its prominence on that naked expanse that's just plain compelling. But, this time, this was the best I could do.

It was the morning of the first frost. That didn't mean everything was sugar-coated--temps never tumbled down that low; but it did mean that the air and the views were vivid and clear. It's harvest time here now, and last weekend just about everyone who had business out there was in the field doing corn or beans. Lots of dust, but the season's first northwest wind--strong northwest wind--had done much to clean up the sky. It was, I'm saying, a gorgeous morning, brimming with color.

Look, I'm not blind. The fact is, we've got nothing on the Big Woods, and, truth be told, it would have been really sweet to wake up somewhere up north last weekend, where there's real color. But, that having been said, when the sun finally emerges from the horizon, the yellowing grasses (it's October!) all around turn to gold, which is, I'd maintain, no small delight.

The Midas touch of dawn is nothing to shake a stick at.

Stopped out at the buffalo. I can't really head back without at least checking in. Once upon the time, the whole spacious valley belonged to them. I figure I owe them a little attention.

It was a gorgeous Saturday morning, and, as I started west toward home, I told myself it was a wonder really to be out in the middle of all that bronze beneath the radiant rule of early morning.

An old adage rules landscape photography--or any kind of photography for that matter. There's only one stedfast rule about all of that, and it's only two words long: "be there." If you're not, there's no image. Be there.

I got to thinking old man thoughts too--how that particular morning would never again be repeated. Next October 7, the trees may be shorn of leaves, there may be mist from the river, the skies may be gray. Whether or not I was able to get any showy shots last Saturday morning, the fact was, I was there for a show that will never take the stage in the same way again.

What a privilege. Felt really wonderful. 

Got what I came for.