How I came to be a photographer and storyteller of life, love and adventures. A journey of rediscovery and purpose.
Home is a place I continuously long for, yet home can be anywhere you want it to be. Here’s a poem of my thoughts on Home.
Lately it seems that the state of our world is longing for a little hope. Here’s a poem of thoughts while driving along Hwy 62.
Somehow, I fell in love with Lone Pine.
Not that I stayed long enough to truly get to know it. I reluctantly drove out just as fast as I drove in.
If I could do it all over again, I’d stay a little while at the local Motel where they offered spotty Wifi and a stale pot of coffee for the passersby.
It was a glimpse into the past. Back to when times were simpler. And slower.
Nowadays, everything seems to be such a blur. We race to one destination just to race to the next destination, chaos ensuing.
Lone Pine reminded me of the good ole days of land lines, rotary phones and the Yellow Pages.
When you had your friends’ numbers memorized, and your form of caller ID was letting it ring twice, hanging up, then dialing again.
When getting directions meant going into the nearest 7-Eleven or rummaging through the floorboard of your car for a map.
When supper was on the table at sunset, and you best be home by the time the street lights come on.
Or when a favor was the only form of payment that was accepted.
It’s places like Lone Pine that give me hope for the future.
Hope that we haven’t completely lost ourselves in the noise surrounding us.
Hope that a place still exists where time has stood still.
If I could go back and throw one more penny into the fountain,
I’d wish for simpler days.