I have set about to capture the magical feeling I get whenever I enter the gateway and go into this meadow near our home. I call it a "secret" meadow and almost think of it as "my place" because you have to go through an old dilapidated gate hanging crooked on it's hinges, to get inside. And because from the outside it looks so absolutely ordinary that one would not suspect such a luminous sacred place exists there.
The aspen trees surrounding this meadow are all stunted for some reason. They seem old and full of stories, yet their trunks are short (most no higher than 10 or 12 feet) and twisted, distorted by the elements.
One of my flickr friends suggested placing something (like Sam) in the photos to convey the sense of scale, so today I played around with an old chair and my vintage umbrella while Sam watched. He did not want to be in the photos. He told me so and very directly.
Anyway, this turned out to be one of my favorites.