On this cool October morning, nature is closing up shop.

It’s hard to make a bridge to strangers. 

The waves have become liquid silver.

As I step into the sea breeze, I wonder if this would be God’s chosen smell.

How many years have I celebrated this vista without stopping to capture it?

This image, in all its mundanity, is just what I am looking for.

Protruding from a brick wall, the giant, golden hand beckons me.

The secret gardens are always the best ones.

The wind is howling outside of my Iceland hotel room.

 It’s 8:18 on the back roads of Pennsylvania and I’m hunting for a tower.

Apparently, we are all hardwired with two competing systems.

Walking through the casino, I am thinking about gambling.