Collection Four
Remain
Remain a little longer.
Photography has taught me that some moments reveal themselves slowly. They don't ask for anything dramatic—only a little more of our attention and time.
This collection is about remaining long enough to let a moment unfold.
008
For Now
Remain
It was the end of an afternoon with Ross when he looked up and said, “Look at the clouds.”
I did, and then I noticed the tracks. I sat down between them with my camera while he stood nearby. The air was warm, the clouds hinted at a storm, and the tracks seemed to stretch endlessly in front of me. Everything felt peaceful.
There was change coming. I knew that much. A lot of my photographs come from knowing, even in the middle of something, that it won't always look or feel this way. So I notice it a little more. I stay with it a little longer.
That evening, I sat on the tracks and did just that.
There was something temporary about that evening, even while I was still inside of it.
For now, it was safe to sit on the tracks. For now, the storm was still somewhere in the distance. For now, Ross was still here. For now, all I had to do was sit there in the warm summer air and notice what was in front of me.
None of those things would stay exactly as they were, but that evening, what I had was enough.
008
Closer
Remain
I kept moving closer, not because I was trying to photograph the mountain, but because I wasn't finished seeing it. The mountain hadn't changed. I had simply remained long enough to notice more. Sometimes that's all remaining asks of us—not to find something new, but to see more deeply what was already there.
I chose Closer because every time I thought I had seen the mountain, I found myself taking one more step. Not in search of a better view, but because I wasn't finished noticing.
007
Shelter
Remain
There are moments in life when the safest thing we can do is stop.
I spent much of the evening waiting for lightning. When it finally came, I realized I didn't need to be any closer. The rain on the windshield, the sound of the storm, and the quiet safety of the car were already enough.
That evening reminded me that shelter isn't only about protection. Sometimes it's what allows us to witness something powerful without needing to change it.
I named this photograph Shelter because the lightning was never the point. What stayed with me was the feeling of sitting inside the car, listening to the rain, and watching something powerful unfold just beyond the glass. That exact moment—the rain, the lightning, the road closure, the feeling of safety—will never exist again. The title is a reminder that shelter isn't only a place we hide from storms. Sometimes it's the place that allows us to witness them.
006
Wait
Remain
I almost rode past this photograph. That thought has stayed with me more than the image itself. It reminded me how often the things I need most are easy to miss because I'm already thinking about what's next.
The dandelion wouldn't last much longer. That's what made it beautiful. Standing there, I realized the same was true of life. The seasons I want to hold onto eventually change, but so do the ones that feel heavy.
Neither asks my permission before moving on.
Sometimes hope isn't found in escaping the season you're in. Sometimes it's found in waiting long enough to watch it change.
I chose Wait because that's exactly what this photograph asked of me. It reminded me that some moments don't ask us to do more. They simply ask us not to leave too soon.
005
Linger
Remain
I've always struggled with transitions. Even the happy ones remind me that time keeps moving. Tomorrow was asking me to let go of today before I was ready, and I could already feel myself living there instead of here. Then I looked up.
The sky wasn't asking me to stop time. It was only asking me to stay with it for a little while longer. This photograph reminds me that, for a few quiet minutes, I did.
I chose Linger because we can't ask beautiful moments to stay. But we can choose to linger within them for a little while longer.
004
Pause
Remain
It's easy to think we need to escape somewhere quiet to find peace. That afternoon reminded me otherwise.
Sometimes all it takes is deciding not to rush through the moment you're already in.
I chose Pause because that's exactly what the moment offered me. The market never stopped. I did.
003
Still
Remain
I used to think stillness meant doing nothing. Now I think it means paying attention. This morning wasn't asking anything from me. It didn't need to be different or more interesting. It simply invited me to stand there a little longer. I'm happy I did.
The tree was still. The morning was still. And for a few minutes... so was I.
002
Buzz
Remain
I met Buzz while volunteering at a senior dog sanctuary.
Every week I arrived hoping he hadn't been adopted yet. It sounds strange to wish for that, but it meant I would get one more afternoon with him. Those visits taught me not to assume there would always be another one.
Buzz never hurried through the time he had. He simply met each moment with the same quiet gentleness. Looking back, I realize he wasn't teaching me how to say goodbye.
He was teaching me how to stay.
I chose Buzz because, despite everything life asked him to endure, his kindness remained. I wanted the title to be as simple and honest as he was.
001
Until the Ripples Fade
Remain
I stood there longer than I needed to. There was something peaceful about watching the water slowly return to stillness.
It reminded me that not every moment asks us to hurry toward the next one. Sometimes there's something worth finding by simply staying a little longer.
I chose Until the Ripples Fade because it reminded me that some moments ask us to stay a little longer. It's easy to turn away as soon as something happens, but I wanted to remain until the water became still again. Sometimes the ending of a moment has just as much to offer as the beginning.