Many years ago, in what now feels like a different lifetime, I had the pleasure of living in a small town in Mexico, high in the mountains.
Getting there was an adventure. The road wound through a succession of one-horse towns, each with little more than a few weathered shacks and a cantina. The landscape was desolate — long stretches of brush, cactus and tumbleweed, so lonely you could almost hear the echoes of a Marty Robbins song as each town disappeared in the rear-view mirror.
But once I reached my destination, everything changed.
The mountains seemed to explode in shades of red, blue, purple, yellow and green. The colors shifted with the passing hours, transformed by the changing light. And as evening descended, the landscape took on an entirely different character. Mountains disappeared into darkness, familiar shapes became mysterious, and the shadows seemed to tell stories of their own.
I have come to believe that it is often in the shadows where the magic happens. When the light begins to surrender to darkness. Things half-seen become more intriguing than things fully revealed, and the imagination fills in what the eye can no longer see.
I have learned that beauty does not always announce itself in the light. Sometimes it waits quietly at the edge of what we can see— in the mystery of a fading color, the shape of a distant mountain, or a shadow whose story is left for us to imagine.
Shown: Framed desert landscape prints/geometric wall art with mat. Please click on any image for more information.
