Clouds in the canyon,
brushing rock faces they have known
for a million years.
In December, freezing rain brought widespread power outages; the damage to trees, especially the oaks, epitomized a brutal side of nature. A lesser storm iced the roads again this week, while another brief round may arrive tomorrow.
There’s no such thing as bad weather, just soft people. —Bill Bowerman
Meeting a friend at a local café to talk about photography and life has become a Sunday ritual for me. Our preferred shop is smallish; the background music doesn’t intrude too far into quiet conversation, and the drinks are just right. In the spring and summer we take our refreshments outside to a table, but by late November the furniture has been put away and rainy days, like today, have returned.
Puddles were growing on the sidewalk outside as I sipped my coffee. I watched people passing, headed to the several stores surrounding the café. But there was something about these folks, on this morning, strange and yet familiar all at once. With three shopping weeks left before Christmas, almost no one appeared to be hurrying.
Oregon once owned an honest reputation for wet weather, but recent drought years have tarnished that. Like many others, I’ve forgotten the sound of rain beating steadily on a rooftop. Perhaps those passersby, like me, were comforted by the return of its voice to autumn’s relaxing choir.
I went for an easy one this week, an “old” rainbow from my film archives, circa 1976. It’s one of a handful of pictures where I can recall what camera/lens combination I was using (Minolta SRT and 35mm Rokkor-X), and how I felt while chasing it. Literally chasing.
Dramatic weather sometimes seems fated to occur when the foreground is really lousy—there are either too many complementary items, or none at all. This was taken right before sundown near Charlo, Montana, at the edge of the National Bison Range. I drove out on a couple of side roads, hoping for something interesting before the light disappeared, and literally around the last corner, at the base of a small hill, I found this wonderful cloud hanging on a barbed wire fence…
Good night, and good luck.
—Edward R. Murrow