Autumn Moods in East Tennessee: How I Learned to Feel a Photo
I’ve walked trails in the Smokies since I was a kid. But this year, something shifted.
The red maples, the curled edges of oak leaves, the soft mist at dawn — they weren’t just beautiful. They felt haunting.
Over the years, I trained myself to shoot “correctly.” Sharpness, perfect exposure, clean composition. And many of my photos turned out technically flawless. But something inside me whispered: you’re not seeing the soul of the moment.
That whisper led me into Japanese aesthetics — into Wabi-Sabi, Mono no Aware, the embrace of imperfection and transience. The quiet power in a half-faded leaf, a blurred branch, a muted sky.
So in early October, I woke before dawn and hiked into the woods near Newport. My goal wasn’t the perfect shot. It was: feel something.
I let shadows crush, let fog soften edges, let color bleed into silence.
Here are three lessons I learned that morning:
Imperfection invites curiosity. A tiny leaf blur, or blown highlight in sky, holds tension.
Muted color moves the heart. Instead of vibrant greens and reds, I pulled back saturation, then let the warmth creep in.
Stories live in silence. In between sharp details, the voids — the empty spaces — tell more than the objects.
I can’t promise you’ll “understand” what I felt. And that’s okay. Maybe the point is not understanding, but slowly opening yourself to emotion.
If you’re in East Tennessee this fall, go find your mist. Walk slow. Let your camera listen.
