What does it take to chase something that only rises once?
The Strawberry Moon rose slow and bold over the high desert—low on the horizon and laced with copper and light. I had mapped the timing for days, calculated the angles, but still nothing prepared me for the moment it appeared. Full, glowing, impossibly warm against the night.
The air was still, but the pressure to get the shot was anything but. Moonrise waits for no one. The tree stood like a witness—weathered, reaching, perfect in silhouette. I steadied the tripod on uneven earth, my fingers trembling more from awe than effort.
This wasn’t just a moon. It was a moment—one that comes only once a year, a breath held between solstice and summer. I didn’t want to capture it. I wanted to honor it.
My hope is that this image lets you feel what I did: the weight of light rising in silence, the gift of one rare moment, given to all who were willing to wait and watch.
