Five Frames

What Was Behind Me

I didn’t stop here for the view ahead.

I stopped, turned around, and saw this.

It’s funny how often we forget to look back on the trail and in life. We’re so focused on what’s next, what’s around the bend, that we miss what’s quietly unfolding behind us.

This view wasn’t the one I was chasing.

But it ended up being one that stayed with me.

A reminder that sometimes the best perspective isn’t found by moving forward, but by pausing and simply turning around.

Prompt of the Week: Look Back

Technique:
When you're out walking, pause every so often and turn around. Take a photo of what you see behind you.

Why it works:
We tend to focus on what’s ahead - the summit, the destination, the next bend in the trail. But often, the most striking scenes are the ones we’ve already passed. Light shifts, angles change, and the story of the landscape can look completely different from the other side.

Try this:
Make it a habit to stop and look back during every outing. You might catch golden light hitting a ridge just right, or notice how a winding trail frames the landscape better in reverse. Let your curiosity turn you around; some of your favorite photos might be waiting behind you.

Behind the Photo

This wasn’t planned. It was one of those last-minute ideas you chase on instinct.

I knew I wanted to include the Flatirons, but that’s tricky. A good Flatirons photo usually needs to be taken facing west, while the aurora was glowing to the north. Add in the city lights from Boulder, and it felt like a long shot.

But I remembered a hillside near NCAR with a small clearing in the trees, just west of the city lights and open enough to give me a shot. I didn’t know if it would work, but I went anyway.

And luckily, it did. The aurora showed up in full color. I couldn’t control that part, but it delivered.

This image serves as a good reminder: it pays to revisit a place and truly know it. That familiarity—built over time—is often what turns a long shot into a lucky one, because we create our own luck, after all.

A Thought

Seeing is a learned skill. Most people look, but few truly see.

We’re bombarded by visual noise every day. Billboards, screens, scrolls. It’s easy to become passive, to glance without noticing.

But learning to see—really see—is a quiet, deliberate act. It asks for presence, patience, and curiosity.

What helps you make that shift?

When do you find yourself moving from passive observer to perceptive artist?

A Quote

“The goal is not to control the process, but to participate in it.” - Rick Rubin

I’d love to hear from you! Have a question, suggestion, or want to explore a collaboration? Get in touch!

Help spread Five Frames. Share it with other photographers, artists, writers, and creatives.

If you were forwarded this message, sign up here to receive it each week. It’s free!