Among the challenges of plein air painting are anticipating the light and knowing when to snag it. To capture the desired effect on this cool September morning, I was out of my sleeping bag and at my easel ahead of sunrise. As the first hint of dawn turned the sky from black to deep indigo, I roughed in the silhouette of the Knife Edge and the contours of the Great Basin. The light increased, and I was able to make some color choices to indicate rock, water, and trees. Finally, a warm spotlight began to illuminate a few select peaks, and light slowly poured down from the Tablelands. I made a decision to freeze time in the next heartbeat, locking my focus on a particular triangle of brilliance. As I rushed to complete the painting, the scene in front of me became less and less like its depiction on the canvas. My triangle now only existed in brushstrokes, a reminder of a moment gone by, blurring the boundary between observation and memory.