The third piece in the triptych was the new first snow the following morning. It wasn't dramatic, but it was the first fall and noteworthy. It completed the series, combining the warm sun on the mountain with the cold of the moon white snow. And it took place in the same western part of my sky, linking place and time.
They were more than snapshots, my three images. The experiences were photographs, my triptych. They were like being painted on. Or I was the negative they were burned into. And like art, their meaning doesn't rush to reveal itself. I wait to understand.
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