Every photographer knows the beauty of morning light.  Usually when good light occurs, a photographer goes into a sort of fight or flight mode.  We bend at the knees for stability, get a little sweaty in the palms to better grip our SLR and our peripheral vision is on overdrive resulting in a heightened sense of awareness.

Here on Fisherman Bay, I leave my blinds open to help me wake up and get my son on the bus on time.  At seven a.m. today, I rolled to to see a near full moon running towards the horizon line.  The pastel palette of dawn was just ahead of it.    In juxtaposition with a familiar waterfront bank of wind torn cedar trees, I saw a composition that could not be ignored.  Over my thermal underwear I grabbed my ridiculously puffy coat and stumbled out into the yard, well before my first cup of coffee and accompanying bowel movement.  My neighbors stared hard as they pulled away slowly in their work truck.  We don’t really talk so why would I be out in my front yard at daybreak walking briskly toward their property line?  “Is he in some sort of trouble?,” they probably wondered.  I played it off by turning around and staring back at my house until they drove away.

3 frames later I had it.  The itch was scratched.  The light was preserved, forever.  In a strange yet translatable digital language of ones and zeros.  Time to go wake up Jake.