Some places don’t just reflect light, they remember it.

I stood in the heart of Craters of the Moon National Monument, a landscape born of fire and violence. The air was dry and cool, smelling of sage and ancient dust, while the ground beneath my boots crunched, a sharp, brittle carpet of cooled lava. This place is an ocean of black basalt, frozen in time, where the earth once cracked open and poured itself out.

Above me, the Milky Way stretched wide, an eternal river of stars glowing in the silent dark. Photographing here is like standing on another planet. The rock is so dark it swallows the shadows, making the stars seem even brighter, closer.But it was a simple opening in the jagged rock that caught my eye.

A hollow, carved by wind and time, perfectly aligned with the galaxy beyond. It felt like a moment made on purpose. I set up my camera in the quiet, feeling small against the vastness of the universe.

When I captured the image, seeing the stars framed by the rough stone, I realized something profound. Even in the roughest, most broken places, God is always creating windows of wonder. We just have to be willing to look for them.