I have come to realize that the most interesting thing about a sunrise isn't the sun. Instead, what makes some sunrises special is what the low, angular light is doing to the landscape everywhere except where the sun in visible.
This scene is one of several that I captured along Highway 14 in western South Dakota. Even if I didn't get anything camera worthy, it was a beautiful September morning to be in a part of our state that some would say is flat and bland.
Incidentally, if you look at the last three posts in this blog, you will note that I have moved the horizon to the bottom of the frame. I guess I am featuring the sky in my "Western South Dakota" series because I think that our amazing skies have much to offer. Montana's got nothing on us!
I should mention, incidentally, that the red band in this photo is ripe sorghum, which seemed to be planted in abundance in this part of our state. And did anyone noticed that the three primary colors are all dominantly present in this photo?
Canon 5DIII f/9.0 ISO320 35mm (shutter speed unknown - because this is an HDR composite?)

I would say that today's photo stands in sharp contrast to yesterday's and in even starker contrast to the Alaska photos I have posted lately. But I don't mind juxtaposing from time to time.
This photo is only a few minutes old and I am publishing this sitting by the side of the road just outside of Philip, SD. This morning's full moon and glorious sunrise have given me several photo opportunities as I've driven east along highway 14 towards Pierre, SD. And I couldn't resist sharing this particular photo with you.
The saying is that "the darkest hour is just before dawn" and I was aware of that when I went quickly to my camera bag so I could get the moment pictured in this post. I'm not sure how one defines "dawn" but I concluded that the saying was a bit inaccurate even if it is more metaphorical than literal.
When Deb and I were driving back to Watertown on the day we did Lacey and Matt's engagement session, I remember driving by this tree and saying, "That's an amazing tree." And so, before I ended my session north of town a few days ago (that resulted in the two previous posts) I stopped by this tree and took several photos. I ended up liking this one, largely because of the way the stark monotone of the skeletal tree contrasts with the strong colors of the earth and sky.
Those who follow this blog know that Lonesome Lake is one of my favorite places. Even if I didn't have a camera and tripod, I would enjoy this place, especially on a morning like the one this photo taken on. It was cool and windless, which on an August day is South Dakota, is somewhat rare. And there was a kind of silence here that it hard to describe. But I will say that I could hear and feel the silence. And when I look at this photo, I still do. I wish you had been there with me.
The title of this post may suggest that it is another flower photo. But, instead, it is another sunrise photo. This photo is the result of serendipity, I suppose, in that I just happened to be in the right place at the right moment. But serendipity doesn't suggest that it was an accident. When I left home just before sunset on this morning, I drove north hoping to find something worthy to photograph. And this is the first photo I took. I'll post others in the next few days.
I'll have to admit that I was trying to channel Ansel Adams when I made* this photo. Of course, Ansel used a view camera, filters and elaborate dark room magic to make his great black and white landscape photos. In the digital realm, all of those things are done using software.
My wife has nice flowers but does our neighbor and the other day I couldn't help but be drawn to her collection of yellow tulips, which had just bloomed. The light was poor but I enhanced the scene with on-camera flash. I rarely use flash but I have taught my students that it's ok to use flash as long as it doesn't overpower the scene. In the case of this photo, I think it works.

It is a fact known to my family, friends and associates. But I haven't in any formal or public way made the announcement: after 36 1/2 years of being a classroom teacher, I am retiring. I am down to my last three days with "my" students in "my" classroom.
Of course, this view of the distant Los Angeles skyline, taken from the Hollywood Bowl overlook just off of Mulholland Drive, isn't alien to the denizens of LA. But to a flatlander in a relatively rural state (with little or no air pollution) this landscape is certainly foreign.