At the base of Multnomah Falls, time slowed—each drop cascading like a moment suspended between the earth and sky, as if the falls themselves were reaching out, craving something more than just the pull of gravity. I stood there, camera in hand, trying to capture not just the image but the feeling—the roar and the whisper, the way the light danced through the mist. The lens can freeze the scene, but it could never still the craving in my heart.

As Valleyheart’s lyrics echoed in my mind, “Crave” became more than a song; it became the way I saw through my viewfinder. Each shot wasn’t just a photograph, but a reflection of what I longed for—a sense of being truly alive, present in something far greater than myself. The weight of the world fell away with every click of the shutter, each image capturing not just a moment but a feeling I’d been chasing, always searching for.

Here, beneath the towering heights and endless mist, I understood what it meant to crave without fear. The desire to capture something so fleeting, to frame a piece of this experience while knowing no image could hold it all. There was a moment when chasing waterfalls was no longer just a hobby—it became the answer to that silent longing, to exist between the earth and sky, like the falls. Ever flowing, ever reaching, and yet always home.