The Story Behind / Fall Transitions
Series • September 27, 2021 • Written by Ashley Vemwell
The simplicity of just being there, witnessing without thought—the act of observation—reminded us why we are drawn to these wild places. It is not to influence them but to be influenced by them.
That morning, the energy of autumn revealed itself as a kind of whispered reverence, veiling the North Cascades in its frigid, misty embrace.
It was as though the landscape had taken a collective exhale, holding still in its transition. The fog, a living thing, danced over the peaks and wove itself through the skeletal trees, its movement slow and deliberate, like a distant memory taking shape—always a little different with each recounting.
This image came about with particular ease. We took just a single shot, but before it was captured, the moment demanded more than documentation. So we sat and stayed along the river’s edge—still, silent, open—to witness the scene as it unfolded and press the shutter at the right moment.
The fog thickened and thinned in waves as the ever-flowing water sang its delicate song. Each detail felt sacred, each moment differing from the last. Fleeting.
The simplicity of just being there, witnessing without thought—the act of observation—reminded us why we are drawn to these wild places. It is not to influence them but to be influenced by them.
A reminder from the natural world of what it means to be present, and to experience with honesty and humility. Learning to see the world this way—whether by word or by example—gave us something immeasurable. To stop striving and start listening. To see beyond the surface and into the heart of what lies before us.
Each moment became its own revelation. A shifting of fog. The rhythmic rustle of water meeting earth. The trees, largely bare and unadorned, stood in their quiet presence. No two seconds were alike, yet every instant was stitched into the next in equal succession. Ordinary, yes, but extraordinary in its very ordinariness.
Not all scenes present themselves with such ease, though. Some demand your full endurance—pushing the boundaries of patience, technical knowledge, emotional resilience, and even, at times, physical strength. They challenge you to stay when you’d rather withdraw.
But even in those moments of difficulty, there is something to learn. The key is to remain open to it, to surrender to the experience as it unfolds without insistence on its outcome, even if it requires more than you were prepared to give.
The story of the land doesn’t wait for us. It unfolds in its own time, with or without an audience. But when we slow down and offer our attention, our full awareness, we become part of it—shaping how we see the world and ourselves within it.
