Water Droplets, Tiny Fibres

Terri and I spent an afternoon traversing a steep bowl that surrounded our alpine campsite. The weather quickly became fluid and aggressive: thick fog engulfed us, bringing with it wind, snow, hail and rain. As we made our way along the ridge, we were treated to brief glimpses of the valleys through parting cloud. Our campsite looked insignificant, like some deflated memory.

The wild weather cleared as we descended through meadows to our campsite. A lantern sun glowed through papery clouds and brought millions of suspended water drops to life. The accumulation of snow and hail began to melt. All around us there was a transformation, a recovery from the storms, and I was reminded of how durable life in the alpine must be to survive.

The droplets of water standing on this tiny plant were incredibly perfect, as though there had been a gentle scotch mist instead of severe mountain hail. As I photographed it, I thought of calamity, of persistence, and of the spiteful way of beauty; as I made my way down the final hill to our tent, I felt very happy to be alive.