One of the many unsolicited lessons of 2020 was the futility of planning for the unexpected. Despite my efforts to map out destinations and subjects to photograph, forces beyond my control repeatedly threw those plans aside.

After countless travel cancellations, July marked a turning point. It was my first trip during the pandemic—and my first visit to Yellowstone National Park. I embraced the opportunity to explore a new part of the country and to feel the rhythm of travel once again.

Much of my early work was focused on landscapes. While I learned a lot from that process, I found myself drawn more to the unpredictability of wildlife and the variety it offers. I also felt a deeper connection to animals than to scenery. To me, it’s often the difference between capturing emotion and capturing aesthetics.

Sometimes, a scene manages to evoke both.

One morning, I spotted a bison feeding in a marshy area in front of a dense wall of trees. I approached slowly, hoping for a stronger angle, but found little to work with. I crouched in the wet grass until he disappeared into the forest. Looking for other subjects, I noticed a lone pine tree standing in the grass off to my left. From where I stood, I could see it had potential. But when I moved directly in front of it—with the forest as a backdrop—I knew I had something.

It needed no embellishment. It was already perfect.

Morning mist hung low as the sun made a faint push to break through the fog. Just enough light filtered in to draw out the soft greens in the grass. The real highlight, though, was the perfectly placed gap in the treeline behind the pine—a gift of light that let it command the frame.

For all the preparation that can go into an image, nature has a way of reminding you who's really in charge.

That quiet morning—with its stillness, ideal conditions, and the lone tree standing tall—captured the essence of that period better than I ever could.

I was just grateful to witness it.