The past few weeks have taught me about my limits in photography and words, how the closeness to documenting a moment doesn’t validate a synonymity to living through it.

The pleasure of a nose pressed pink from rain-specked winds gushing through turquoise lakes; the pain of a right sock wet from rainwater making its way through an unidentified hole through a favorite pair of worn shoes.

Horror movie mists hugging themselves to mountains, then drifting apart; a swan curled into itself as water erases and fills itself into water.

My limits in photography and words, the closeness to documenting a moment doesn’t validate a synonymity to living through it. Maybe being human then, is to keep trying, repeatedly learning that process isn’t a path to the end, but a path within itself.