Northeast Chill at Dawn

This past week along the northeast Florida coast felt less like March and more like a stubborn February. Cold air kept blowing in from the northeast, carrying biting winds and unseasonably chilly temperatures that turned planned photography outings into brief, bracing encounters rather than the extended creative sessions I’d imagined.

I’d been looking forward to chasing light across the beaches and historic streets of St. Augustine. Instead, the conditions encouraged a different kind of presence. I stayed warmer indoors and turned my focus to the page—making solid progress on The Silent Thunder, the second book in the Ethan Rourke Trilogy. The story is coming together, and an early April release is looking more realistic every day. There’s something deeply satisfying about watching a manuscript near completion, much like waiting for the perfect moment behind the lens.

Even with the wind still blowing, I stepped out this morning and was rewarded with this scene. The sky held that dramatic transition from deep indigo to fiery orange, while the Atlantic waves rolled steadily toward shore, their motion reflected in the wet sand. It’s one of those raw, moody coastal moments where nature refuses to be ignored.

The image reminds me that ideal conditions are rare—whether in photography, writing, or life. My time as a Green Beret taught me the value of adapting to whatever environment presents itself: read the conditions, adjust the plan, and remain patient enough to recognize the gift when it arrives. That same discipline now serves both my lens and my keyboard.

Lately, I’ve noticed how the two mediums compound each other. The patience developed waiting for light sharpens the focus required for words. The observation honed behind the camera deepens the scenes I try to build on the page. While the weather limited time outdoors this week, it opened space for the story to move forward.

A portion of profits from my fine art prints continues to support the Green Beret Foundation.

I’d love to hear—what creative work have you turned to when the weather (or life) had other plans?

Sincerely,

Stephen