As I was hurrying up the trail on the east side of White Rock Mountain, I was kicking myself for actually believing the weather forecast that had predicted overcast skies. And for stopping to get some scrambled eggs for breakfast. And for going to the southwest point first rather than coming straight to the east side.
So there was a whole lot of kicking going on that morning, the reason being I was watching the best color of the day as I was rushing to get to one of the spots along the bluff where the woods open up enough to stick a lens through. A deep red sun was rising over blue hills, and instead of standing behind the tripod with shutter release in hand and camera lined up and focused, I was a few minutes too late to photograph the best part of a sunrise that I would never see again.
Still, Big Momma Nature gave consolation to a tardy and undeserving photographer that morning by splashing her spectacular light across the sky and painting the sweet old hills with a gold she only shows in winter. A prime morning for Ozark light.