Light and dark

I was driving home from the mountains on Sunday and the sky cast shadows and light, changing the landscape from familiar postcards to dramatic and meaningful photographs. Storms hovered on the horizon as I passed through the valley between the mountains. As I looked to the south, the peaks were covered in white, etched lower down in shades of grey and white. There was no colour. It was as if Ansel Adams were taking still shot after still shot. While the peaks and cirques were snow-covered, the limestone ridges, cracks and features were dusted with rectangles of snow. Instead of pointillism, I saw hatching but no person had painted the picture. It was nature's alone.

To the north, there was colour, not a lot, just the dark sage of evergreens clustered and silhoutted against the muted mountainside. The valley itself was straw-coloured, but every now and then, a beam of light would center on a peak, a gap, or a tree, and the contrast made me gasp. Nature's spotlight.

Miles later, when I was driving north along flat prairie, the road curved upwards for a moment. There were mountains where there should have been none, but these mountains were not remnants of glacial movement. They were cloud. A stormfront was ahead but instead of ominous grey sky, cumulonimbus clouds reached down to the earth. Above this layer, were altostratus clouds, then blue blue sky. Far above still was a layer of cirrus clouds. It was like a mirage of mountains and I was awestruck.

The drive felt almost spiritual, as if I were receiving a lesson in how to observe and interpret the world, in how light and dark affect perception, and how what we think we see may not be. I am grateful.