Here is my Sunday Thought.
I was on a boat crossing Lake Lucerne when I made this photograph. The water was restless, the clouds heavy, and Mount Pilatus rose above it all, wrapped in a band of fog. It felt ancient, unmovable, almost indifferent. And that’s when it struck me: this mountain doesn’t care.
It doesn’t care about my worries, my plans, or even my photographs. It has seen storms, battles, generations of people who came and went. It was here long before us, and it will remain long after.
That realization was both humbling and strangely comforting. My daily concerns, the things that sometimes feel overwhelming, suddenly seemed smaller. The mountain reminded me of scale — of how fleeting our moments are, and yet how meaningful they can be when we choose to notice them.
Photography, in a way, is my way of answering back. I know the mountain doesn’t care about my picture, but I care. By framing this view, I claim a small connection to something far larger than myself. And perhaps that’s what many of us are doing with our cameras: leaving traces of our gaze, even if the world itself doesn’t ask for it.
What about you? Do you find comfort in photographing things that will outlive us all — mountains, oceans, forests? Or do you prefer the human and fleeting — faces, gestures, moments that vanish in seconds?
Hit reply and let me know. I’d love to hear how you see it.
Until next time,
Tomasz
That is beautiful. Thank you
Tomasz, I recommend “The Mountains Won’t Remember Us” by Robert Morgan, a celebrated author of the American South. This is one of his early collections of short stories. He is a poet and novelist, as well.