This is what one month of sound looks like. Not notes on a page, but lines of light and shadow, a spectrogram that gives shape to what the ears alone might miss. To those who know how to read it, it is a kind of writing—one that tells who spoke, who sang, who called out in the dark.

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Each row marks a day, stretching from midnight to midnight. The birds begin early. Each morning, they sing. As the days grow shorter, their songs come later. You can see it shift, little by little, to the right. And if you press play, you’ll hear them—along with the chorus howl of a Yellowstone wolf pack, a voice rising from the land itself. The small blue bar moves ever so slightly across the screen, tracing sound into time, into memory.

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Recorded in Yellowstone National Park, where the world is still more wild than tame, Jeffrey Reed has turned this into something more than data—he has made it into art. His prints bring these sounds to life, color and rhythm pressed into acrylic, a frozen moment of Yellowstone’s song.