I have been running around countless times before and after the vernal equinox to capture the hanging sun of Taiping Tower. I have tried twice to suspend the sun at sunrise, but both ended in failure: once, thick clouds covered the sun and no golden light was seen; Once the sky was clear and bright, the sun rose too fast, the light was fierce, and the scene was pale. I missed the best window for sunrise, so I placed all my hopes on the sunset hanging in the sky.
This time, I finally got the opportunity to take pictures of the pavilion on Pailou Mountain. I have calculated repeatedly on the map, and the trajectory of the sunrise happens to be hanging above the top of the pavilion. The scene is enough to be moving just by imagination. The parking spot has already been cleared in advance. Last time I took a blood moon photo, I specifically stepped on it, cleared obstacles, and prepared everything properly.
Looking at the dazzling stars in the dark blue sky, they twinkle gently and brightly, as if comforting my small regret. Since it was not possible to capture a complete delayed video, we carefully selected a frame from the limited 20 second delay sequence and used it as the basis to complete a starry sky work, capturing this special birthday night.
The wind of 2025, carrying the morning frost and starlight, passes through the mountains, rivers, lakes, and towers of Datong, landing in my camera viewfinder and on the films that freeze time. This year, I used the lens as a pen and light and shadow as ink, carefully tracing the gifts of nature and the echoes of history on the long scroll of time. Every time I pressed the shutter button, it was a gentle conversation with the world.
On the early morning of October 1st, the Holy Mother Mountain in Zuoyun Batazi was still sinking in the dark silence. I had just finished shooting the starry sky, put away my long exposure camera, and then held my backpack to guard by the holy spring, with my gaze firmly locked on the three trees not far away. I have been contemplating this morning glow appointment in my heart for over three months, and I deeply understand that only in October will the sun rise precisely in the direction of one of the trees, allowing the morning glow to dance among the shadows. At this moment, the world is silent, with only the sound of spring water, waiting for the long-awaited feast of light and shadow.