Skagit Bay (1.14.26)
Sunset settles over Skagit Bay, the estuary washed in shades of yellow and gold. Light scatters across the water, reflecting off ripples and translucent mudflats, turning the shallows into a shifting mosaic. In the foreground, snow geese crowd together, heads down and feeding, their constant honking rolling through the air in a dense, unmistakable chorus.
Across the water, the Olympic Peninsula rises into view. On clear days or when the sky permits, distance collapses — the twin peaks of The Brothers catching the last light, standing sharp and quiet beyond the movement below. Skagit Bay, Whidbey Island, and the Olympics all line up in a single frame, layers of land and water stitched together by light.
Nothing here ever fully stops. The tide shifts, clouds drift, light breaks through in brief intervals before slipping back behind them. Sun and shadow move slowly across water and land, never settling into a single state. That familiar exchange — clouds overhead, light finding its way through — this is where the inspiration for Clouded In Light comes from.
