When I’m early for work, I sometimes turn right instead of left for no reason at all—just to see what the morning looks like on the Blue Ridge Parkway. In early autumn, I drove through Pisgah Forest with that rare kind of light that seems to slow everything down. Near Mount Pisgah, the sun was just cresting the horizon, and mist filled the folds of the mountains. I pulled off with my camera bag in the car—pure luck—and watched the layered ridgelines appear one by one as the light found them. I photographed quickly, knowing I didn’t have long, then packed up and headed to work. The rest of the day felt different: not because anything changed, but because I’d already started it with something quiet and complete.
