Wild Beauty: Reflections from the Banks of the Salt River

Wild Horses at the Salt River, Mesa, Arizona, ©2025 Eric O. Ledermann.

Not long ago, I joined my friend and fellow photographer, Rick D’Elia, on a morning outing to the Salt River. Rick had visited before and knew the terrain well. I hadn’t. For me, it was the first time stepping into this stretch of desert where water winds its way through canyon and mesquite, drawing life to its edges.

We set out with a shared intention — to find the wild horses that roam this place and to quietly observe them through our lenses. There was a stillness in the air that morning, the kind that holds its breath just before something appears. And sure enough, mere feet from the parking lot they came into view.

A small group of horses was already grazing near the riverbank, moving slowly and deliberately through the low brush. They didn’t seem to mind the quiet human presence nearby — a handful of us scattered among the bushes not far from the water, watching respectfully, keeping our distance. By law, people must remain at least 50 feet away, a boundary most seemed content to honor. We weren’t there to interfere. We were there to witness.

There’s something majestic about seeing wild animals that stirs a part of me not often reached in everyday life. These horses — unbranded, unbroken, untouched by reins — carry themselves with a calm confidence. They belong to the land, not in the way that something is owned, but in the way that something is of a place. Watching them, I remembered that wildness isn’t chaos — it’s balance. It’s rhythm. It’s presence.

I stood there for a long while, camera still at my side, just taking them in — the way they interacted with one another, the way they moved in and out of the shadows, the way they seemed to exist entirely on their own terms. Something in that moment reminded me how powerful it is to simply see and be seen without expectation.

That morning along the Salt River wasn’t about capturing a perfect image. It was about receiving something — a glimpse into another world that, in truth, isn’t separate from ours at all. It’s just harder to see when we’re moving too fast in the concrete wilderness of the city.

That’s why I do what I do.

Portrait photography, for me, is about creating space to slow down. To reconnect. To see the beauty that’s already there — in your story, your relationships, your spirit. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. And when we take the time to see each other clearly, something beautiful emerges.

The experience with the horses reminded me that meaning often lives in the in-between spaces where we let our guard down and simply are. That’s the energy I want every portrait session to hold: not a performance, but a presence. A chance to feel seen, valued, and rooted in who you are.

If you’re ready to create portraits that reflect not just how you look, but who you are — your legacy, your connection, your story — I’d be honored to create something meaningful with you.

Let’s start that conversation.

P.S.

A few select photographs from that morning are available as wall art at Terralúcida Fine Art Gallery. If you’re drawn to the beauty and spirit of these wild horses and the land they inhabit, I invite you to bring a piece of that quiet, grounded energy into your own space.