The Quiet Between

It was the second day of my solo winter trip to Death Valley. I had come with the intention of spending three full days in the Ibex Dunes—one of my favorite areas in the park—to slow down, wander, and get even more familiar with the rhythms of this remote stretch of desert. By the time I took this photograph, I hadn’t seen another person in over 36 hours. And to be honest, I was perfectly content in that solitude.

The desert has a way of clearing space—not just around you, but inside you too. That evening, as the sun began to set, I was wandering the dunes, letting the shapes, textures, and contrast slowly reveal themselves. I wasn’t looking for a specific image; I was just letting my mind wander freely, open to whatever the desert wanted to show me. I had actually seen the moon begin to rise earlier—peeking from behind the dunes as the light shifted and the harsh contrast of the setting sun danced across the landscape—but I was in the wrong place for anything meaningful. The composition just wasn’t there. So I kept wandering, open to what might come. That’s when I noticed one of the bushes—low, subtle, catching just enough light in front of a textured ridge of sand. A few steps later, I saw a second bush—slightly higher and positioned a bit deeper into the scene—nestled in a shallow dip just before a gentle bowl that rose gradually into the larger dune beyond. Suddenly, I saw the potential—the rising moon, the anchored bushes, the quiet triangle they might form together. I moved quickly, knowing I didn’t have long before the moon climbed too high to hold that delicate balance.

I hadn’t checked the moon phase before my trip. I hadn’t looked on purpose—I didn’t want any preconceptions or expectations to shape what I might find. But there it was, perfectly placed—enough to stop me in my tracks and send a wave of giddy excitement through me. The kind of excitement that only seems to come when you're completely alone and fully tuned in to what’s around you. I tried a few different compositions, moving carefully, watching how the shapes interacted. I remember thinking, "Don’t screw this up," while also laughing a little at myself and talking to the elements around me. But once I settled into the scene, it all clicked—the moon, the bushes, the dunes—coming together in a gentle triangle, a soft geometry only the desert could compose.

I don’t know if this image has—or even needs—a deep meaning. I just know that I love it and the experience I had creating it. I love the stillness, the subtlety, and how it captures the feeling of being in the desert when it’s at its quietest. The kind of quiet that’s so complete it feels deafening, like an absence of sound so deep it presses in on you. To me, it speaks to that calm, wondering state of mind that comes when there’s nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. Just light, form, and the kind of silence that stays with you.

My hope is that this image brings that same feeling to others—a pause, a breath, a sense of joy in the beauty of a place that’s often overlooked. This is how I see the natural world. And this is why I keep coming back.
I hope you enjoy this image as much as I enjoyed creating it. 

~Andrew