Rising Sun, Falling Sky

When I saw this pale sun on a scrapyard truck's rusty door, my mind made the bumpy and difficult journey to China. Day was coming over the humid valleys: workers rose on Beijing time and trekked through battered streets and tire-fire smoke to the factories. In the high government and the police stations, deals were brokered not over tea, but over strong cigarettes and promises of foreign money.

What I like most about this photograph is the spreading reveal. It feels as though the mountain wind has been wearing at the massive wall, just this moment blowing the last layers of mortar and dust from between the stones. The light is breaking through, the house and the roof are falling, and the future could be dangerous, tantalizing, cool and fresh, and very, very exciting.