Becoming Found

Art Painted by a Summer StormSometimes I drive or walk for hours to find the scenes I photograph. Usually, I have no idea where I will go, but I know it must be someplace where not very many people spend time. It has to be a place where the persistent loneliness that has become my consort emerges as a way of seeing what is beyond me, especially what is beyond me that is alone, too.

Inanimate structures begin to speak, to tell stories; trees that are nothing but curious intrusions to passers-by become the unassuming grace of stark landscapes; fields of majestic wind turbines become towering dancers against fiery sunset horizons.

I am, then, not alone anymore.