With summer on the wane and autumn on the way, Nature’s where you want to be. And there’s no more bracing or reposeful place to find it than Storm King Art Center, one of the country’s premier outdoor sculpture parks, set on 500 acres of wide-open meadow and woodland in Mountainville, N.Y., about an hour’s drive north of Manhattan. Librado Romero, a photographer for The New York Times, has spent a lot of time there over the past year, watching constantly changing weather and light playing over one of the center’s most spectacular site-specific works, Maya Lin’s gently monumental “Storm King Wavefield.” The work, which had its debut in May 2009, is made up of seven parallel rows of long, undulating, grass-covered earthen mounds. These forms, which reach a height of 15 feet, were originally inspired by swells of waves in midocean, though at Storm King they seem tailor-made to echo the lines of the surrounding Hudson Highlands hills. Set in a former gravel pit, the piece is designed to be seen from two quite different perspectives. Viewers standing on the pit’s rim will have a kind of panoramic aerial view, while those approaching from below, at ground level, will find the same landscape rising around and over them as they walk between “waves.” Any outdoor sculpture composed of organic and degradable materials is bound to show physical wear and tear, and require vigilant conservation. During a reseeding of the grass covering this summer, visitors were restricted from going inside the piece. But within the next few weeks access will be restored, and with it the possibility of an absorbing encounter with the work along with a distanced survey of it. Then there’s the perspective of photography, which is unlike any other, or rather like all others combined: sweeping and intimate, detailed and abstract. In my colleague’s pictures we see “Storm King Wavefield” the way Ms. Lin probably, ideally, hoped we would: as equally art and nature. We see it in changing light and seasons. Almost magically, we see it in a way we otherwise never could: what it looks like when we’re not there.