Journal

Loaded up the truck and headed north with Lamont. Abandoned hotels, 1800s schoolhouses, a barn door opened ten thousand times by hands that are all gone now. This is what I chase.

5 a.m. Friday. My youngest son, a camera, and the longest possible route to Flagstaff. The client could wait. The bonding couldn't.

I stopped for gas in Flagstaff. Rain coming down. A man on a bench who wasn't trying to perform sadness — just too exhausted to hide it. I saw what most of us drive past.

300 shots from a protest at a Phoenix mosque. One photo of one little girl changed everything — and led me back through the front door with a print in my hand

A decade passes in a flash. But a moment — the right one — can last forever.

A man asleep in the gravel. The word CHURCH in metal letters four feet away. I pulled over because the frame said everything words have been failing to say.