A foggy morning blankets the Mississippi River in New Orleans. The guazy curtain holds glimpses of scenes that only come into sharp focus when the vapor departs. The blur of the images hold me captive, the phantom silhouette of a ship passing by, the birds soaring through. The earthy smell and mystery that wrap my bones in pure joy. There is no sense of time when I am wrapped in the fog. The lens searchs for a ghost, chasing the infinite vapor, it's a dance between the visible and invisible. 

Sometimes I have to hop over fences and pray that my passion to get closer to a scene won't land me behind bars. When you are an observer of life sometimes the unknown becomes clear and you can see. The phantoms are no longer creating fear because they were ships cloaked in fog the entire time. And when you can see the form, you see the beauty and feel the pull of love that is everywhere.  Sometimes you have to squint to see, and sometimes that sliver of vision holds a big picture that didn't exist before. Sometimes it's the squint that opens your soul. Im sure that my very existance is all about cutting through the fog so that I can see.