Solitary Light
A Visual Journal of Return and Reverence
For years, I’ve returned time and again to the Great Smoky Mountains—drawn by something deeper than scenery, something quieter than words. This ongoing body of work is the result of early morning hikes, changing seasons, and an evolving relationship with the land. Each visit is a renewal, each image a record of presence—of being fully aware in a place that demands stillness, patience, and humility. The Smokies offer no spectacle. They don’t shout. Instead, they whisper—through shifting fog, muted light, and the hush of wind in the trees. In this silence, I listen. In this solitude, I see. These mountains have become a kind of chapel for me, a place where the noise of the world fades and the presence of God feels unmistakably near.
This work is not about chasing the perfect composition. It’s about letting go of expectation, waiting without urgency, and being receptive to what’s offered—light pooling briefly on a ridge, mist unraveling through pines, or a single tree holding onto its last golden leaves. Over time, I’ve come to understand that photography is less about control and more about surrender. It’s a practice of seeing what’s there, not what I hoped would be.
Solitary Light reflects more than a visual journey. It maps a personal landscape as well—a space shaped by time, faith, and the quiet transformation that happens when you show up to the same place again and again with open eyes and an open heart. The Smokies have marked me, changed me, and continue to teach me how to look, how to be still, and how to find the sacred in the everyday. Though the project spans years, it remains unfinished—perhaps because the work isn’t only out there in the woods, but also within. With each return, I gather another piece of what the mountains offer. And with each frame, I try to leave something honest behind.
And then, I leave—camera packed, boots dusty, mind quieter than when I arrived. But the Smokies stay with me. Their rhythms, their silences, their shifting light—they linger long after the drive home. I never know exactly what I’ll find on the next visit, only that I’ll return. Because there is always something waiting in the stillness. Until next time.
"Morning Mist"
A break in the clouds let the morning light pour across the ridgeline like a slow-moving spotlight. The Smokies were still holding onto mist from the night before, and the contrast between that glowing strip of trees and the deep shadows around it stopped me in my tracks. It was one of those moments you can’t plan—just pure luck and being in the right place when the mountains decide to show off.
"Quiet Ground"
Mist settles over a fading field in the Cove, where autumn’s final breath clings to the stems. In this silence, time softens and the landscape becomes a memory—not of what’s lost, but of what quietly endures.
"Golden"
I was drawn to the way the golden maple leaves seemed to float in front of the dark trunks, like flecks of light suspended in shadow. This image is less about a specific place and more about the rhythm and repetition I saw in that moment—how the forest transformed into an abstract tapestry of color and contrast. It became more about form than forest, a composition where structure and pattern took precedence over location. I wanted to capture the feeling of being enveloped by autumn, where the boundary between the tangible and the poetic begins to blur.
"Turning"
While hiking through the Smokies, I paused in this quiet stretch of forest where the colors seemed to hum in low, glowing tones. The overlapping layers of yellow, orange, and fading green felt like the trees were mid-sentence—caught in the act of turning. I was drawn to the way the light sifted softly through the canopy, giving the scene a kind of hushed intimacy. This image is my attempt to hold that fleeting transition, where change isn’t sudden, but slow and beautiful.
"The Gesture"
I came across this tree deep in the Smokies, glowing like a beacon in the understory. The twisted trunk, reaching into a canopy of yellow, felt almost like a gesture—expressive, weathered, full of character. I was drawn not just to the color, but to the shape, the way the branches moved through space like a line drawn with intention. I wanted to preserve that feeling—the vibrant chaos of fall held together by the quiet grace of structure. This image is less about the tree itself, and more about the moment it becomes something more: a mark, a memory, a flicker of movement in the woods.
"Into the Mist"
The morning mist was doing its best to hide the last bits of fall color, but these yellow birch trees weren’t having it. Their golden leaves peered through the fog like lanterns in the quiet forest, putting up one last, bold display before winter took over. The soft light and swirling mist made everything even more beautiful, wrapping the scene in a dreamlike stillness that felt both fleeting and eternal. Moments like this are what continue to inspire my photography.
"Sparks Lane 1"
Cades Cove is one of my favorite places to be—especially in that quiet stretch before sunrise, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. On this particular morning, I stood alone on Sparks Lane, wrapped in a thick blanket of fog. The Smoky Mountains loomed just beyond sight, waiting to emerge with the rising light. It was silent, almost surreal, until a lone car slowly approached through the mist. I captured this image just before it reached me—drawn to the way the fog, the trees, and the winding road came together to create a moment that felt suspended in time.
"Mountain Pass"
This image was made from an overlook on Newfound Gap Road, deep in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains. What struck me most that day wasn’t just the sweeping layers of ridges or the storm clouds pressing in—it was that winding ribbon of road carving its way through the forest. It felt like a metaphor for so many of life’s journeys: full of twists, uncertain endings, and beauty at every turn. I chose black and white for this image to emphasize the mood—the sense of solitude, movement, and quiet perseverance that the landscape seemed to whisper.
"Mountain Dusk"
This image was made as the last light of day slipped behind the ridges of the Great Smoky Mountains. I had pulled off at an overlook, hoping for something subtle and quiet—and that’s exactly what unfolded. The soft gradient of tones in the sky, the silhouette of layered peaks fading into the distance, and the stillness of dusk all came together in a moment that felt like a whisper. It’s these in-between times—when the day exhales into night—that I often feel most connected to the landscape. This photograph is my attempt to hold onto that hush.
"Blue Mist"
A cold front had just moved through the Smoky Mountains, and the storm clouds were beginning to lift. What remained was this layered blue mist draped across the ridgelines—soft and moody, like the mountains were slowly exhaling. I stood there for a while, taking it all in, grateful for the quiet moment between weather and light.
"Smoky Mountain Stream 1"
It was another early morning hike in the Smokies when I stumbled upon this serene composition. The soft, diffused light filtering through the mist, the rich autumn palette, and the quiet stillness of the forest stopped me in my tracks. What began as a vigorous walk quickly turned into a moment of stillness and reflection. Surrounded by nature’s quiet beauty, I lingered, taking it all in before carefully setting up my gear to capture the scene. This image is the result of that pause—a moment of peace preserved through the lens.
"Daybreak 1"
Morning light spilled gently over the Smoky Mountains, peeling back layers of mist to reveal the quiet rhythm of the ridgelines. The stillness was almost sacred—no wind, no birdsong, just the hush of the world waking up. These moments always stop me in my tracks, when the veil lifts and the landscape feels both eternal and fleeting.
"Lean on Me"
On this foggy morning in the Smokies, the forest was quiet except for the steady murmur of this small cascade. What caught my eye wasn’t just the water or the rocks—it was the pair of leaning trees in the foreground, almost as if one was supporting the other. There was something deeply human in their posture, something about companionship and quiet resilience. I titled this image Lean on Me because it felt like a visual metaphor for how we get through life—weathered, rooted, and better together.
"The Calm Before"
Storm clouds gathered above the Smokies, casting a dramatic contrast between darkened skies and sunlit ridges. The last light swept across the hills like a slow breath, igniting the autumn canopy with fleeting warmth. In moments like this, the landscape feels suspended—caught between tension and peace, shadow and brilliance.
"Smoky Mountain Stream 4"
There’s something grounding about following a mountain stream deep into the Smokies. This little cascade, tucked beneath golden leaves and framed by mossy rocks, was one of those quiet places where time seems to slow down. The mist had just started to lift, and the sound of the water was the only thing breaking the stillness. I could’ve stayed there all day, watching the way the light moved through the trees and the leaves floated downstream—just soaking in the calm that only a place like this can offer.
"Splendor of Fall 7"
I made this image on a crisp fall morning when the forest seemed to be burning with color. Everywhere I looked, the trees were alive with gold, amber, and red—an overwhelming display of fall's full splendor. What I loved most was the layered density of it all: trunks rising like pillars through a canopy of fire, with evergreen undergrowth adding a quiet counterpoint below. It felt immersive, almost painterly, and I wanted to create a photograph that would honor that richness—not just in color, but in the feeling of being completely surrounded by the season.
"Twilight Silhouette"
On the edge of Chilhowee Mountain, I watched the last light fade behind the ridge as this bare tree stood in quiet silhouette. There was hardly a sound—just a few birds settling in and the soft hush of the wind. The sky held onto its color for a few extra minutes, like it didn’t want to let go either. Moments like this feel simple, still, and just right.
"Misty Mountain Morning"
I made this image on a quiet morning in the Great Smoky Mountains, just as the clouds began to lift and the ridges emerged one layer at a time. The mist moved like breath through the trees, softening everything it touched. There’s something deeply humbling about watching the mountains reveal themselves so slowly—like they’re deciding whether to let you in. I’ve always been drawn to these fleeting moments when the light, the weather, and the landscape come together in silence. This photograph is a reflection of that stillness and mystery.