The wind at Washoe Lake sweeps across the valley, rippling the water into silver-blue textures that shimmer under the big Nevada sky. Clouds race overhead, constantly reshaping the light—dark for a while and then opening to bright bursts of sun that set the lake glowing.
When the wind pauses, even briefly, the surface turns to glass. The mountains, sagebrush shoreline, and dramatic skies reflect perfectly, and then the wind returns, breaking the mirror into moving patterns again—never still for long, always changing, always alive.
