Earth

connecting with Earth...
One of those occasions when you spot the perfect light while driving down the road and, after a few seconds of hesitation, decide to turn around, find a place to pull over, and take the chance.
I literally fell in love with the grace and beauty of this tree at the visitor center in Capitol Reef NP. It’s simply perfect—don’t you think?
I wish there were a magical forecast that could predict foggy conditions with a high level of certainty. That would be a game changer.
Even having a remote shutter release doesn’t spare you from running back and forth between the camera and the “selfie” spot at least a few times. But after all, it turns into decent morning exercise.
Despite the clear path that draws the eye here, there is no trail leading down into the valley in these badlands.
Just about 100 feet of a 2,000-mile Appalachian trail. Roughly 1,000 miles stretch north from here, and a similar distance heads south. For the average thru-hiker, completing the entire journey takes about six months.<br/>After traveling the past 12+ months mostly in desert and badlands regions, one thing has become clear, while the East Coast might not offer many jaw-dropping vistas, it has something else — the luxury of lush, green landscapes for about nine months of the year. It’s a joy you often take for granted until you’ve spent time in places scorched by the sun.
Contrary to the popular belief that size doesn’t matter, using long, large telephoto lenses allows a photographer to capture some very special moments often invisible to the naked eye.
I met this model during a twilight stroll at Alabama Hills, near the mighty Sierra Nevada. It was an accident, really, but the moment I laid eyes on her, I almost immediately fell in love. Some might say she’s prickly—possibly... But let’s be honest, you can afford a difficult personality when you're as beautiful as she was.<br/>We didn’t exchange many words, but she graciously agreed to pose for me. I made sure to keep my distance, respecting her space as if I were tiptoeing around a delicate masterpiece. There was an undeniable magic in the air that evening, and I’ll always remember our brief, starry romance beneath the California sky. Sadly, it lasted just 30 minutes, but those moments are etched in my memory forever.
The ocean that once covered this place retreated 200 million years ago, but it left behind the daunting silence of the deep. That silence lingers here to this day.
Those are the moments when you are eternally grateful to a stranger who hiked the big dunes and helped create something that became one of the most valuable and important pictures I have ever taken.
Almost all dune photographs in the U.S. are taken in one location - the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes in Death Valley National Park. There are several reasons for this - easy access, short hikes, minimal elevation gain, and firm sand. Grand Sand Dunes National Park, on the other hand, offers none of these. Add to that the 8,000-foot elevation at the base of the dunes, which hits you immediately if you’re unacclimated. But the Colorado park gives you something the other dunes lack - the “Grand“ in its name perfectly reflects the feeling you get when spending time there.
Otherworldly landscapes of New Mexico badlands
Even after learning how hoodoos and similar formations are shaped by nature and time, these “Cracked Eggs” still look too unreal to be natural—as if they belong to another level of wonders.
The Old Rag hike being one of the most popular in the Mid-Atlantic and attracting more than a thousand hikers on a good day can easily get lines longer than Georgetown Cupcake due to some narrow and relatively technical passages in its rock-scramble section and people not quite prepared for that. The best way to beat the crowd would be to hike the mountain at night. About an hour of romantic forest trail with steady incline, another hour for rock scrambling and one could be rewarded with a gorgeous sunrise over Virginia’s Piedmont. You might even make it to the summit faster if you are lucky enough to spot a black bear in the pitch-darkness.
If there were to be a museum of mountains, it would be here in Badlands National Park. Rolling hills of the Carpathians, sharp razors of Patagonia, and the massive Himalayas—everything is represented here. Various shapes and colors, just reduced in size a few dozen times.
While some entrepreneurs promise to send people to Mars in the near future (apparently because there is not much left to f..k up on this planet), some people just casually travel there…
Here should be some sophisticated text about how gorgeously photogenic my wife is, but hey... you can see it yourself!
Dramatic light conditions in this ever-changing landscape of Oregon coast.
Warm pre-sunrise colors gave an extra reddish hue to the already colorful badlands of Death Valley.
Driving with one headlight broken could be dangerous. But at least it could give a nice effect if you accidentally ended up being photographed.
Remote and ten times less crowded part of Acadia park. The atmospheric conditions didn't bring me any light that evening, but I managed to find some vibrant colors in a different way.
After feeling miserable and annoyed with all the people who were jumping into the frame, I took three long breaths... It didn't help at all and I remained same annoyed. But finally, one of the tourists ended up completing my composition in a very photogenic way.
This spot, not far from the entrance of Arches National Park, could be a decent one for people who, like me, are too lazy to drive farther while still half-asleep.
There are moments you want to scream about to the entire world, and there are quite the opposite ones. The ones you fear to share because they would inevitably lose something after that. And you do hope nobody will ever find those places—your special places—whether they are physical locations on Earth or hidden deeply inside you.
When people see a guy with a tripod pointing his camera at something, they occasionally approach me with questions like “Is there anything particular going on here?” or “What do you see there?”. I typically come up with stupid responses sort of “Erm… I guess life is going on here” or “Um, I see the trees there”. I doubt I ever satisfy those passerby with my replies. After all, people do tend to get upset when they face something simple while expecting complicated things.
After having a pint of pilsner in a bar in Pacific City, Oregon, I set out to wander the sandy hills of Cape Kiwanda, although I could have just stayed and had another pint of pilsner. Never did I achieve anything more heroic in my life. And I'm still wondering to this day whether the consistent leaning of the trees in the photo was caused by the wind or the pilsner.
Everything is much bigger on the West Coast, even the dead trees.
I keep complaining all the time that fog conditions are not very frequent here in Virginia. When they do happen, even ordinary scenes often turn into something magical. However, when they do happen, it's always in the morning, and I'm typically too lazy to drag myself out of bed.
The glowing effect of Colorado aspens in the fall.
“Termination dust” seems to be exclusively Alaskan colloquial term and means the first dusting of snow in the mountains at the end of the summer season. Historically, it gave the seasonal workers an indication that snow was imminent and it was time to start preparing their camp and work for winter. For many, it in fact meant “termination” of their employment status. Despite some negative connotation of the term (some Alaskan even asked reporters and the weather people to stop using it) few things in nature can compare to the beauty of glowing aspens highlighted by white snow in the mountains.
One day I will learn to predict which part of the sky will be lit up by the sunset or sunrise in the most beautiful way. Until then, I'll just have to run up and down the hills searching for the best composition and risking breaking my legs.
I adore the feeling of absolute calmness in nature a few hours before a snowstorm reaches the area. The sounds get quieter, the light gets softer. The anxiety about getting into trouble on untreated roads gets worse.
While I might look so peaceful and balanced on this photo, I might actually be in panic mode, worrying about my tripod being knocked over by a sudden wind blast.

Earth is the foundation of all physical matter and represents everything that is solid, stable, and tangible in our world. This element symbolizes the ground beneath our feet, the structure of our bodies, and the material aspects of life such as resources, wealth, and possessions. Earth is associated with qualities of stability, reliability, and groundedness. It embodies the concept of patience and endurance, reflecting the slow yet persistent forces of nature that shape our landscapes over millennia.

Earth teaches us the importance of building a strong foundation in every aspect of our lives. Just as plants need firm soil to grow, we require stability to thrive. This element emphasizes the need to care for our physical health, sustain our environment, and create a secure base for our endeavors. Earth encourages us to be practical, methodical, and deliberate in our actions. It also reminds us to appreciate the natural world, find solace in its beauty, and recognize our interconnectedness with all living things. Meditating on the Earth element can help us feel more grounded, secure, and connected to our roots.

Other elements:
Water gallery
Water
Fire gallery
Fire
Air gallery
Air
Ether gallery
Ether