There are moments when the universe cracks open just enough to show you the teeth behind the smile. This was one of them.

We were perched on top of Iron Mountain like lunatics in a temple of darkness, tripods up, eyes wide and unblinking. Stars above us. Silence around us. Until bam! A jagged snarl of light burst between the Three Sisters like a celestial warning shot.

Robert saw it first, dialed in, sharp as hell, and snagged the first bolt like a cosmic assassin. I was right behind him, chasing lightning ghosts across the long exposure ether, trying to catch the sky mid-scream. This shot? One of the lucky ones. A split-second of madness burned into a pixelated prayer.

That glow behind the peaks? Not a sunrise. Not a fire. Lightning. Raw and indifferent. The kind of thing that makes your spine hum and your soul mutter, “You are nothing, but you’re here, so make it count.”

We weren’t just doing astrophotography, we were documenting omens.