Old tired knees carry me and a heavy backpack up on icy, wet, or sun-baked hills and muddy trails.
I wait patiently for dawn and sunrise, for the sun to set, for the tide to rise, for a patch of clouds to roll above a peak, or for the mist to engulf a meadow. I wait for those moments not because I am a landscape photographer, but because I am a runaway from human reality and I find comfort in nature’s beauty.
Waiting patiently for the right moment to strike, I am a thief and my camera is my tool for what I do. These pictures are my loot; I look through what I have hoarded in the quiet of the night to distance myself from the madding crowd. My only concern is whether or not I will have time to wander on to places I have not yet seen: a greedy heart is in charge here and these days it knows only this comfort.
Perhaps in the next life I might experience the wonder of flight, swim lifelong along a coral reef, or hitch a ride onto water’s journey pushing life into the veins of a living planet. In this life, I am just a wanderer and these stolen moments & the places they point to are nearly the only things that matter near the end or make sense.