My mornings here in the Sonoran desert have started early…a few minutes after the start of civil twilight when there’s just enough light to ensure I don’t step on a rattlesnake while traipsing through the desert…ahhh…that magic time for photographing… just when the sage brush appears on fire and the tree bark turns golden as the sun begins to rise…

Ever since I was a little girl, certain trees have always fascinated me. It started with the weeping willow.  We had several on the farm and I can remember playing under them and trying to swing from the branches like something out of Tarzan.  There was a beauty when they’d sway in the breeze, with almost a gothic look about them… Then on family vacations to Florida, we visited Cypress Gardens and the ominous banyan tree mesmerized me, as well as the Spanish moss cascading from the tree tops.  Now fast forward and the desert ironwood has since cast its spell…

I don’t know what it is…but it’s the dead ones that touch my heart…that butterfly in the stomach feeling when I see the perfect one during twilight, morning or evening.  I’m clueless as to what all of this means, but I’m sure my mom is thinking about now….well you did love Dark Shadows and your bedroom was painted black.  Hmm…what does all of this say about me?

(Cross-posted over at Vision and Verb where a collaborative group of like-minded women

from all over the world share their passion for photography and the written word.)