A slow morning in the Smokies

The trail was still blue with early light when I reached the overlook. The mountains appeared one ridge at a time, each softened by a thin layer of fog.

I used to think a good photograph began with finding the right view. More often, it begins with staying put. I watched the light move for nearly an hour before lifting my camera.

That morning was a reminder to leave room for the place itself to set the pace. The final frame is quiet, but it holds the whole experience for me: cold hands, birds beginning to call, and the first warm patch of sun.