The original plan for this session was to string a simple clothesline between the trees and hang a soft white sheet as a backdrop- something clean and timeless, framed by a halo of green leaves. I arrived early, as I always do, ready to set it all up. But as soon as I stepped out of the car, I heard the low rumble of thunder.
Rain wasn’t in the forecast, not even close, so I kept my optimism as I got to work. I strung the clothesline, clipped the fabric, and instantly entered a battle of wills with the wind. The sheet whipped and twisted with every gust, determined, it seemed, to take me down with it. I finally had it secured, billowing but secured, when the first drops started to fall.
Not a drizzle. A true Texas downpour.
I grabbed my camera and ran for cover, ducking under a thin canopy of trees that offered little protection but plenty of laughter. Instead of panic, I felt this strange calm, almost amusement. It felt playful, like the sky was reminding me that sometimes, the best moments can’t be planned.
Ten minutes later, the rain eased. The light shifted. And as the clouds began to break, a rainbow stretched across the lake, wide and glowing, like it had been waiting for its cue.
Just then, I got a text from my clients: We’re here!
They walked down the trail just as the sun reappeared, and we started creating— the air still fresh, the world washed clean. We agreed to save the white-sheet idea for their newborn session and instead embraced what the day had given us.
And honestly, I think it worked out just as it was meant to.
Sometimes, the most meaningful sessions are the ones that refuse to go as planned— where a storm changes everything and gifts you something you never could have scripted. This evening reminded me why I love what I do: not just capturing light, but the quiet resilience, laughter, and connection that always shine through it.
