Back in 2000, I was assisting photojournalist Reza Deghati on a National Geographic story about earthquakes. In the early hours of a cold November morning, we were walking through a village at the foot of Mt. Ararat. Before dawn, we noticed a shepherd leading his flock out past the earth-roofed houses, and we followed the sheep into the dim light.

It was still nearly dark when Reza suddenly urged me to look north, toward the 5,165-meter peak. The first light of a distant winter sun was just about to touch the summit, casting a warm reddish glow. I was stunned. “Look, Aydin,” he said, “that’s the magic light all photographers spend their lives chasing.”

Within seconds, the colors shifted, spreading their glow across the peak and then down onto the high plains below. Despite the freezing temperatures, I felt an unexpected warmth—and I’ve never forgotten that magical moment.