With kudos to my three-year-old grandson, we spotted these cotton candy clouds hovering over Lake Ontario near Rochester, New York.
A local apple orchard held a trick-or-treat night. We arrived right before sunset and were surprised to see the sun finally break through at the end of a rainy, cloudy day.
The setting sun reflected cotton candy pink off the roiling atmospheric rain-makers as we entered the orchard. Thousands of Halloween revelers traipsed over the soggy grounds, collecting candy here and there among the rows of trees still laden with deliciousness.
These recent Shenandoah Valley sunrises and sunsets were too beautiful not to share with you, especially on gray, chilly December days.
This glowing sunset on December 2 included a sun pillar. The setting sun’s rays backlit the virga that appeared around the sun pillar.
I rose early enough on my birthday to capture the tale end of a lovely sunrise from the backyard. Red in the morning, sailors take warning proved true. Low rain clouds moved in and blessed us with some much-needed precipitation.
We didn’t get much, but every little bit helps.
The soft pastel sunset on December 4 added to my happy birthday.
In contrast, the December 7 sunset was explosive. As sunsets want to do, the colors transformed minute-by-minute as I changed locations to photograph the gorgeous scenes. This photo was taken from a roadside near my home.
Only six minutes later, the sky had transitioned to bright orange and scalloped grays over a local landmark: Mole Hill, a long-dormant volcanic core.
As I drove farther west, the sun sank behind the old, folded Appalachian Mountains. Still, earth and sky combined to provide photographic offerings.
Finally, it was time to head home, basking in the satisfaction of a marvelous sunset.
The following day, I woke in time to catch the last of a glorious dawn. A high hill blocked our view to the east, so I had to rely on peeking out a window to see what the sky had to offer. A friend who lives on a hill facing east posted the full sunrise on social media, replicating the previous night’s sunset beauty. So, I had to be happy with my backyard shot.
That’s how we live each day. We embrace whatever we discover, capture its essence, and share the blessing with all we meet.
Whenever I visit Lakeside, Ohio, I always head to the dock around sundown. Even if it is cloudy, I never know what to expect.
Two blocks from the shore, the sky looked promising for another spectacular sunset. When I reached the dock, however, I noted the thick cloud bank to the west. Given past experiences at Lakeside, the Chautauqua on Lake Erie, I hung around.
Part of my interest was in the crashing waves driven by a strong northwest wind. Lakeside is on the western end of the lake, where Erie’s waters are the shallowest. Consequently, strong winds play havoc with the water, causing continuous erosion to Lake Erie’s southern coast.
The dramatic show of the wild waves assaulting the cement dock distracted me from the setting sun. A break in the clouds, however, gave me a shot at capturing a sunset.
The sun peeked through an opening in the clouds and sent a crepuscular ray upward, where it illuminated a high cloud. The fury of the waves colliding with the dock created a mirror-like reflection of the evening’s sun.
The lane to Sunny Slope Farm. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
Sunny Slope Farm is a popular venue for weddings, banquets, fundraisers, and other gatherings in Harrisonburg, Virginia.
I go there to shoot sunset photos during all four seasons. They are friendly folks, for certain. It’s less than a mile from my home, which makes it handy for me if the western sky suddenly erupts with a stunning sunset.
Such was the case recently. I captured the above photo before the sunset peaked. The lane goes west and then turns sharply southwest, where this image was shot. Ironically, the southwestern sky was brighter than that of the west.
The combination of the fence and the farm lane leads the eye right to the old farm buildings. With all the clouds, the photo had to be taken in low-light conditions.
Crepuscular rays at sunset. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
I was ready to give up on this sunset that had looked so promising. A layer of clouds hung above the Allegheny Mountains, creating a narrow break in the sky. I hoped for a brilliant sunset, but most of the color was in the southern sky.
I’ve learned to be patient, though. Long after the official sunset time, these crepuscular rays suddenly appeared. Crepuscular rays often occur at twilight and are created by sunlight shining through gaps in the clouds.
The rays created a sharp contrast between light and dark. In this case, the sun turned the rays terracotta and brightened the evening sky for a brief time. The local landmark of Mole Hill stood dark in the foreground.
My wife and I come to Florida for a few weeks each winter. There are many reasons we do so besides the warmer weather. Magnificent sunrises and sunsets enrich our lives.
The sunrises come to us. Our rented condo is on the beach facing the Atlantic Ocean. I only have to walk from the bedroom to the front windows to enjoy dawn’s show. Sometimes I stand in awe at the glorious beauty before me.
Please click on the photo to enlarge it.
Sunset is a different story. An hour or so before the time for sunset, I check the western sky. If it looks favorable, we delay supper, and my wife and I head to one of several locations for picturesque photos.
Depending on where we go, we’ll head out 15 minutes to half an hour before dusk to be ready for nature’s glory to unfold. The image below was taken near a marina on Egans Creek in Fernandina Beach. I was fortunate that these fishermen called it a day at the sunset’s peak.
I was searching for a rare bird when the setting sun caught my attention. When I noticed how the last of the day’s sunrays illuminated the ragtag fringes of the cattail heads, I forgot the bird to capture this shot.
The golden tint of the sun on the lake highlighted the rich and varied browns of this late November scene. I didn’t see the bird, but this moment made the trip worth it.
My goal was to capture the vernal equinox sunset. Instead, I came away with a shot that resembled a Claude Monet landscape.
I positioned myself on a hill in northwest Harrisonburg, Virginia in hopes of getting photos of the Super Full Worm Moon rising over the Massanutten Mountains that run north to south in the middle of the Shenandoah Valley. Unfortunately, a layer of rain clouds blocked that attempt. With that foiled, I turned my attention to the setting sun on the first day of spring.
Hazy clouds filled the western horizon as well, though the sun did its best to burn through. Residue smoke from controlled burns in the Jefferson National Forest during the day fuzzed up the view all the more. Sunsets around the equinoxes are the shortest of the year. This one merely melted away behind the blue, blue folds of the Allegheny Mountains.
In last week’s Photo of the Week blog post, I featured a teenager photographing flowers. I told her parents how inspiring it was to see a young person so interested in photography, something far beyond selfies. When the young woman joined the conversation, I gave her some advice. I told her to look around when everyone else is looking at the obvious and showed her an example of what I meant. She and her parents thanked me, and we parted ways.
“Looking Up” is an example of taking my own advice, something I too often fail to do. Just ask my patient wife. While recently photographing a sunset after the passage of some summer thunderstorms, I was ready to leave when I happened to look overhead. This is what I saw, the remaining rays of the day highlighting some roiling cumulonimbus clouds.
I couldn’t believe all of the beauty that was right above me while I waited on a spectacular sunset that didn’t materialize. As I told the young photographer, look all around you. You just might find something spectacular to capture and share.
I enjoyed watching this little girl play at the beach at low tide at sunset. With the setting sun reflected in the soft waves, I loved the movement captured in this photo. It’s as if the girl had the ocean tied to her ankles, pulling it in towards the sandy shore.
With apologies to the late Pat Conroy, “The Princess of Tides” is my Photo of the Week.
Roadkill Crossing 
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