Coming to Paris has been a wonderful experience, surprising in many respects, one of them being to find how much of an American I am.
[Augustus Saint-Gaudens]

 
 
Paris. 2015.

Leica M9-P | Nokton 50mm 1.5

 

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The silence, it might be … or the stillness. To have no more running to do … to have arrived, and have no more need to run. The appetite changes. Now I think it would be a beautiful thing to be still.
[Ellis Peters]  

Maine. 2015.

 
Johnny and I spent three weeks in mid-coast Maine over Christmas and New Year. Although I’ve had the privilege to travel to many of the world’s most beautiful places – Paris, London, Tuscany, Provence, Corfu, Norway, Ireland, Andalusia – I never felt so drawn to any other place as I did there. Life was simple, people were uncomplicated, the scenery was stunning, the food was wonderful. The coffee was made from beans just out of the roaster, the lobster rolls with fresh lobster just off the boat. The little New England style houses were proudly decorated with buoys and American flags. Almost everyone had a pickup truck and a wood stack in the yard. It was typical small-town USA, but then again, not very typical.

I have such wonderful memories of Maine. Sitting in Sarah’s having blueberry pie and a homemade blueberry lemonade. Driving through snowy backwoods roads with Johnny in a compact car when we should have been driving a 4×4, exploring and taking pictures. Cozying up and watching the first snowfall we’d seen in years, drifting down over the pines and the gray ocean. Standing there with my Rolleiflex at Acadia National Park in tears because it was so beautiful. Hiking up Mount Battie with Johnny in -23C (and laughing about how the ice crystals in his beard made us feel like hard core polar explorers), and drinking the best mocha ever afterwards. That day when the ocean was covered in mist and the light was just perfect. Buying local newspapers. Admiring everyone’s pretty lights and Christmas decorations. Discovering a quirky little town in the middle of nowhere named Hope, and a fishing village at the end of the earth called Port Clyde. Eating hearty chili and big pieces of warm buttery cornbread in a local lumberjack diner. Seeing how the sun came through the pine trees and how it lit up the snowflakes like a million tiny fireflies.

I miss it there. The calm, the feeling of home. I can’t wait to go back.

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In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.
[Rumi]

 
 
Bergen, Norway. 2014.

Rolleiflex 2.8F Planar | Fuji Pro 400H | Richard Photo Lab