Saturday evening’s spectacular burn was not exclusive to the Bay Area…it also extended further north to the fields outside of Winters, and beyond. This was just before the sky turned a deep vermillion, but I’ll post that one later. It was so stunning that I won’t bother telling you about my car slamming into a ditch, my whiplash/semi-concussion, the literally hundreds of mosquito bites, the many calls to AAA and the two separate visits from my saviors at Winters Towing (may they live long and prosper), the harrowing late-night drive home as I yearned for a neck brace and a morphine drip…nope, I’m not gonna bore you guys with all that.
It’s mind-boggling to discover that even after diving with sharks, rappelling down mountains, trekking through third world countries, parasailing right off the beach in Mexico (sooo dumb, but sooo awesome, and sooo cheap), finding myself in the midst of gang fights and violent crime, surviving a particularly monumental natural disaster, and even dating a few sketchy characters back in the day…photography is the most perilous adventure I’ve ever undertaken. I seriously need a helmet, a Sherpa, a spotter, a hazmat suit, and a personal injury attorney on retainer. It’s the one thing that challenges me in ways that both enflame my passion for life, and may also end up killing me…well, I mean, besides my foray into parenthood, but that’s an entirely different story.