After a long day of travel, the temptation of a comfortable room, a cold drink, and a hot shower to wash away the fatigue of two plane rides and a five-hour drive is hard to resist. Muscles ache, joints creak, and the mind is not nearly as sharp as it was at six o’clock this morning. And tomorrow’s another day.
But then the West Texas sky, overcast for much of the drive from the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport to Lubbock, opens up above a not-so-promising cotton field, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. The storm to the south and west begins to break and brilliant red and orange fissures crack through the deep blue cloud bank. Remnants of the passing storm scatter from the main mass and turn into yellow, gold and crimson beacons, pointing north. A center pivot irrigation system sits in silhouette beneath the last vestiges of the storm, a brilliant red/orange gash hanging just above.
Telephone poles stand as dark sentinels in the distance and a few white cotton blossoms are barely visible in the gathering dark at the near edge of the field.
Despite the lateness of the day, regardless of the fatigue, oblivious now to the urge to make those last few miles in haste, I look for a place to pull off the highway, find a vantage spot and shoot a dozen photos before darkness absorbs the artistry of creation.