I pulled over for this one. The sky was doing that late-September thing it does out here: peach and coral smeared across the clouds, the mountains gone to silhouette, the fields still holding a last strip of green. The road was quiet. The fence line was quiet. For a few minutes the whole scene just sat there and let itself be looked at.
That is the whole point of getting out early.
You leave when it is still easy to find a shoulder, a pull-out, a bit of grass that does not already have three tripods and a family picnic on it. You give yourself time. You wait for the light. You take the picture, then you actually look. The phone goes down. The shoulders drop. You notice the way the colour sits on the ridges and how the yellow line on the pavement is the only bright thing left on the ground.
It is a good day to do that. Any clear evening is. We spend so much time rushing toward the next thing that we forget the sky is putting on a show whether we booked a reservation or not.
Then the latecomers arrive.
They always do. They swing in after the best light has already started, after the spots are taken, and they treat the remaining inches like they are public property that belongs to whoever is boldest. A little shove. A bag dropped in front of someone already set up. A body planted so close you can smell their laundry soap. The unspoken message is: I showed up, so I am entitled to the front.
I get tired of it. I do not think that makes me a mean cat. It makes me someone who got up early, found a quiet place, and would like to keep the quiet.
Being kind is not only holding the door or saying please. Being kind is also noticing that another person already occupies that two feet of gravel and choosing not to occupy it too. Space is not an insult. It is basic manners. You can still see the sunset from three steps back. The mountains do not get smaller because you are not standing on someone else’s toes.
If you arrive late, you get the view that is left. That is the deal. The people who planned ahead did not do it so they could pretend they are more important. They did it so they could stand still for ten minutes and watch the colour change. Let them.
So this Friday: pull over if the sky is putting on a show. Take the picture. Then look with your actual eyes. And if someone is already there, leave them the room they claimed with their own early start.
The sunset does not need an audience packed shoulder to shoulder. It just needs people willing to stop.
What do you think? Have you noticed the same thing at lookouts and roadside stops, or am I just lucky in my timing?
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