I got my photographic start by making images of roadside crosses; I spent the better part of a decade stopping at almost every one that I saw. And then, one day, I was done. Just like that. (This is the last one I photographed from that time; the poem with it is almost a word-for-word account of what a woman who lived by the cross told me.)
Perhaps from habit, perhaps because the project’s not really finished yet, or from a combination of those two things, I still notice crosses and other memorials along the road. And sometimes, I do still pull over and make a few images. This one called to me, for reasons that I don’t understand. But of course I stopped. I had to.