that when you are filled with doubt, it means that you are on the verge of growth? I can’t quite remember where I heard this, but as I pull out my hair on this third novel, I am choosing to believe it. I like the idea that doubt is just the door to something new, bigger, more expansive. It makes the feeling—something a bit jittery, like we are on the verge of free fall—more doable somehow. Doubt applies to so much of our lives. Doesn’t it? Will I ever publish this thing? Will it be any good?...

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 chip of sky. A way...

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 as everyone...