The tundra swans migrate from Alaska to the Chesapeake Bay every year. And every year, I shoot hundreds of shots trying to catch their majesty, the way they move their necks, the ivory of their feathers. The span of their wings. They are elusive creatures when it comes to humans. Which is why I chase them with my lens. Seems catching a sunset with the swans, the slight pink of the waves, their cooing and playfulness with other birds, is a gift from the great beyond. Truly a c

I shot this photo during our first snow fall and something about the gate and the lock seemed significant. Yet, as winter persisted, the image seemed to suggest to me that suffering from a chronic illness might resemble being caught behind the gate inside of a forever winter, while the healthy stroll free through eternal spring. At the thought, I shook my head, resentment blooming. I tried to feel and move on. I also recalled sayings from recent podcasts and audio books such

Years ago, I volunteered briefly at a women’s shelter. One of the exercises I had the women do was erasure poetry. We took pages from old books and scratched out words until a poem would emerge from the words we kept. FIND YOUR SKY was one of my poems. Or, its title. The three words became a mantra. A way for me to hold onto beauty in the midst of chaos. Little did I know then that a pandemic would hit us, that I would catch Covid in 2023 and battle Long Covid for years. On s