Ancient Mirror
Ancient Mirror
At 3:30 am., the desert feels ancient. The velvety night sky is filled with a universe of shimmering worlds that appear to watch me. They hover above silently at an unimaginable distance away, each with its own story. Most of the time I’d never even know because I’m asleep or modern lights obscure their beady eyes. But occasionally when something pulls me from a slumber and I have a clear view of the vast cosmos, wonder rolls through me like an enchanting hymn. In that moment, as wonder coursed through me, I began lacing my dusty and worn boots.
I didn’t have a route in mind when I entered Canyonlands National Park, only I knew the story I wanted to capture.
After weaving across the rim of a vast black abyss, I came across a sign: Mesa Arch. Mesa Arch is a famous place I’ve heard of and seen in photographs many times. I’ve never been to the arch and it really wasn’t on my radar that morning. Usually, I seek the hidden corners, shying away from the icons. But for an unknown reason, the deserted parking lot and a faint idea of what I might find, I was urged to pull in.
With my gear already packed from the evening before, I began the short walk to the famous arch. It's late spring, just after the vernal equinox, when the Earth tips towards summer, and the night sky, still rich with spring’s promise, begins to reveal the first hints of the Milky Way. The light of my headlamp was absorbed by the darkness. Only the faint sounds of the desert's inhabitants escaped its pull. With each step dust erupted in a silent nebula around my feet. The twisted forms of the trees around me bore time and the hostility of their arid home.
I continued along, looking up at space more than I was looking down. Eventually the landscape opened, the trees drifting away, until out of nowhere my headlamp painted Mesa Arch on the black canvas behind. Almost as if it was being created as I perceived it. As I neared closer to the arch I began to notice how its stout yet delicate form seemed to mirror the Milky Way above. A place on Earth where the universe seems to align with something so small in comparison. I wondered, in that moment, what formations other worlds reflect back to us, mirroring our place in this galaxy. And what unknown personalities they might hold.
I set my tripod up low in the sand. The arc of the arch carved the sky, the Milky Way followed suit. After a few test shots I dialed in the composition and settings leaving only the clouds to decide the rest. Faint clouds drifted across the core, never fully hiding it, never fully letting it go. In minutes, all but a few on the horizon disappeared, leaving behind a perfect window into the past.
It wasn’t something I had planned. Not something I had come here to find. The arch… the sky… two ancient forms shaped by time in entirely different ways, yet echoing each other in that quiet, fleeting alignment. The photograph felt as instinctual as the moment I got up this morning. So I pressed the shutter gently, careful not to disturb what was already complete. Later, I’d call this image Ancient Mirror.
