The rise of the hill never changes shape. The grass is always whittled down which presents a nice sharp horizon line. When the sun is straight up, the hill is bland, revealing nothing about its potential character . Often the rise is enveloped in fog and most times I’ve no time to stop when a picture might be made. Sometimes, I miss the moment by just a few minutes, sometimes by an hour. I’ve seen cows, a picnic bench and once a wild pig squabbling across the face of the rise. And usually when an amazing sunset strikes the horizon, the plateau is devoid of anything that would make a picture interesting.
I’ve driven by that hill on Slusser Road possibly a thousand times in the 24 years I’ve worked at the Press Democrat.
The sunset Wednesday night was bordering on killer. It just got better and better. After shooting vineyards and not getting anything close to a good picture, I packed it up and headed home. My last hope was that rise. Much to my surprise (or chagrin), horses were grazing on the rise. In these last two decades I’ve never seen a horse, let alone two, on that hill.
I really tried to stay away from a silhouette, but couldn’t pass it up. I’m glad I didn’t.