Desert Tribe

I almost drove right past them.

There, scattered across the face of a rocky outcrop in southern Utah, was a small band of wild horses—seven or eight of them, spread out and picking their way slowly uphill. I’d seen wild horses in this area before, but this time I had my camera and a long lens with me. So I pulled over.

For a while, I just watched. One by one, they worked their way up the rock, picking their route through the steep terrain. Then they reached the crest, and suddenly the whole scene changed. Behind them, a storm was building across the Utah landscape, dark clouds gathering and swallowing the horizon.

That was the moment I was waiting for. I wanted the photograph to feel bigger than just a picture of wild horses. I wanted that sense of freedom and wildness—the horses standing completely on their own, high above the landscape, with the approaching storm behind them. They weren't posing for me. They weren't waiting for the perfect light. They were simply moving through their world, completely unaware that I had stopped to watch.

I pressed the shutter as they reached the top. For a few seconds, everything came together: the horses, the rock, the enormous sky, and the storm rolling in behind them.

Sometimes the best photographs aren't the ones you go looking for. They're the ones you almost drive past.