In the stillness of dawn, as the sky begins to glow, an unseen presence fills the air—real but intangible. Time seems to pause, brimming with potential. Nothing moves, yet everything shifts. I find it difficult to express, but the psalmist’s words resonate: "Be still, and know that I am God." There is a quiet understanding in the light, the air, and the silence itself.
The wheels of life never cease to turn, navigating through rough terrain and smooth paths. The wheels don't ask for perfect roads; they simply keep moving forward without hesitation. There's no room for judgment when all that matters is progress. Life flows like a river, unconcerned with obstacles in its way—water simply moves, flowing around rocks and creating new paths through stone. It doesn’t stop to question if its path is fair; it just continues, driven by forces greater than itself. Similarly, we move forward in an unspoken rhythm between holding on and letting go—propelled by momentum, instinct, and the need to keep moving. Action takes the place of overthinking, and forward becomes the only way. What's important isn’t perfection—it's that we lift our feet and carry on.
Tools of a labor of love mingle with the remaining colors of summer, holding on as the season resists fading into memory. In nature, all things must eventually end, swept along by time’s steady flow. Even the brightest flowers wilt, leaving only a faint trace of their former beauty behind.
As we walk on the same ground, our footsteps create unique imprints. The path is guided by heat, with the world around us illuminated in a thermal glow. Alex is on the gun, behind the RICO MK2 LRF, putting down two coyotes before the rain sets in.
The season shifts, and with it, the world is refreshed, each raindrop a quiet reminder that change has arrived.
I spent most of the night hunting. Tired and sleep-deprived, I took this picture only to realize that a photograph can capture an image, but it cannot fully encapsulate the moment. The moment itself is alive, complex, and multi-sensory, while a photo only captures a still frame of that experience. In the end, the image serves as a keepsake, but the true essence of the moment slips away, living on only in memory. Memories are rich, untamed stories that live in the heart, full of emotion, sound, and sensation, while pictures are like postcards from those stories.
After a rough week, sometimes the only way to reset is to get back to what feels natural. The world isn’t built to be easy—it’s just round, and sometimes you’ve got to roll with it.
"I hear the train a comin"
Vote Republican!
The wheels of life never cease to turn, navigating through rough terrain and smooth paths. The wheels don't ask for perfect roads; they simply keep moving forward without hesitation. There's no room for judgment when all that matters is progress. Life flows like a river, unconcerned with obstacles in its way—water simply moves, flowing around rocks and creating new paths through stone. It doesn’t stop to question if its path is fair; it just continues, driven by forces greater than itself. Similarly, we move forward in an unspoken rhythm between holding on and letting go—propelled by momentum, instinct, and the need to keep moving. Action takes the place of overthinking, and forward becomes the only way. What's important isn’t perfection—it's that we lift our feet and carry on.
Tools of a labor of love mingle with the remaining colors of summer, holding on as the season resists fading into memory. In nature, all things must eventually end, swept along by time’s steady flow. Even the brightest flowers wilt, leaving only a faint trace of their former beauty behind.
As we walk on the same ground, our footsteps create unique imprints. The path is guided by heat, with the world around us illuminated in a thermal glow. Alex is on the gun, behind the RICO MK2 LRF, putting down two coyotes before the rain sets in.
The season shifts, and with it, the world is refreshed, each raindrop a quiet reminder that change has arrived.
I spent most of the night hunting. Tired and sleep-deprived, I took this picture only to realize that a photograph can capture an image, but it cannot fully encapsulate the moment. The moment itself is alive, complex, and multi-sensory, while a photo only captures a still frame of that experience. In the end, the image serves as a keepsake, but the true essence of the moment slips away, living on only in memory. Memories are rich, untamed stories that live in the heart, full of emotion, sound, and sensation, while pictures are like postcards from those stories.
After a rough week, sometimes the only way to reset is to get back to what feels natural. The world isn’t built to be easy—it’s just round, and sometimes you’ve got to roll with it.
"I hear the train a comin"
Vote Republican!
