hurry hurry hurry


I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing here. It seems the busier I am with other things, the more I shoot pictures, a nervous reflex, or maybe a purification that comes from too little time. Like swimming fast, taking breaths in quick gasps. In any event, I have hundreds of new shots--mostly of snow and roads and barly and buildings--but not many stories to go with them because they're always happening between here and there and I can't find a pipeline wide enough to share.