Blog Archives
daughter of the clouds
Lately I’ve been missing shade trees, specifically the dappled light under them, the sound of the leaves in a breeze, the way it feels cooler under them, and how they feel like an invitation to sit a while. I don’t know where this longing is coming from: I’ve spent most of my life living where shade trees aren’t really a thing that happens unless you have to foresight to plant them yourself. But it’s definitely something on my mind.
But on the other hand, a bunch of trees would block these kinds of views.
Lubbock County, Texas
photographed 5.22.2026
monday – friday
All I know about Jonathan, who died at this rural intersection, are his birth and death dates.
He was born on a Monday and died on a Friday.
Separate from his cross, there were three others; they were wooden and unmarked.
Lynn County, Texas
photographed 2.28.2026
sky: afire
Let’s just go ahead and get this out of the way: I went to Maine. There was a spectacular sunset one night.
There was other stuff too, so stay tuned. But also know that that nothing else I post is going to be quite this dramatic.
Camp Ellis Beach, Maine
photographed 9.16.2025
roadside wings
The clouds seem to mirror the wings on the cross, like the spirit of the person has ascended skyward.
Bailey County, Texas
photographed 8.17.2025
can’t sink me in sorrow
I’ve lived almost my whole life on the plains, within view of long horizons. Without them, I feel constrained.
Which I guess is why I took advantage of a piece of a horizon and stretched it out into a four-shot panorama. I felt better, too, when I was done and the photo was a little more horizon-y than the camera realized.
Gilbert’s Cove, Nova Scotia
photographed 7.27.2015
One Day | One Image 