Yeah, I’ve felt that thing a few times. One morning in the Serengeti I was perched on a ridge, camera ready, waiting for the herd to cross. The sun was just tipping over the horizon, painting the sky in these gold‑and‑purple streaks that made every tuft of grass look like a tiny star. Then a herd of wildebeest appeared, heads bowed, and the whole scene—sky, dust, and moving animals—blended into one moving painting. I felt like the world paused, and I got that shot that still holds that wild, sky‑blessed magic.

I let the light guide me. I’d set my tripod, dialed in a wide‑angle to capture the horizon and the herd in one frame, then waited. The sun moved slowly, so I kept the focus steady and let the moment breathe. When the light hit just right, the whole shot felt like a living sketch—exactly the kind of canvas that makes you want to pause and sketch the sky.

Got a few shots of that dust storm, yeah. I’d wait until the wind picked up, then move closer. The clouds of dust drifted over the herd like a gray curtain, turning the whole scene into something surreal. Those bursts gave the photos a little extra edge, like the wild was breathing in another dimension. If you’re sketching, just watch where the dust meets the light—those are the moments that feel most other‑worldly.

Thanks! I’ll keep an eye out for more of those in‑between moments. Next time I’m out there I’ll bring a notebook for you—just sketch the colors bleeding into the dust, and we’ll see if we can catch that same breath of the earth.