I woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of rain on the roof, a slightly disappointing sound since I’d planned to spend most of the day at the Chicago Botanic Garden. I hopped on the highway just as the light began to rise in the east, slowly illuminating the textured blanket of clouds that covered the sky. I had a schedule to keep, but the increasingly colorful sky kept begging me to stop for a few minutes for a quick photo shoot.
Driving along Midwest highways provides an unending, constantly morphing landscape. I often find myself arguing internally: “That vista will be better if I drive another mile. Just wait a few more minutes and the sky will be perfect.” So often, this argument ends in disappointment because I’ve missed my chance.
On Saturday morning, I hit my brakes just north of Rantoul, pulled over on the side of the road and hopped out of my car to snap a few shots. By the time I merged back into the highway, the clouds had completely extinguished the fire of the rising sun and the glory of the moment was gone.
At least this time, I didn’t miss my chance.