Drawn to the quiet poetry of wild places and ordinary days, I walk and ride with a camera at my side , gathering moments before they slip away. In my frames, metal does not rust and people do not age; light lingers, and time holds its breath. Each image is both what I see and how I see, a trace of my passage through the world, and the world’s passage through me.

“What day is it?” asked Pooh.

“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.

“My favorite day,” said Pooh.”