I’ve come to realize that when I take my camera out with the intention to make a particular photograph, it’s almost never that image that ends up being my favorite. Not that those intentionally made photos aren’t fine, or pleasing, or in some cases even really, really good. It’s just that usually they aren’t imbued with quite as much meaning.

Instead it’s the photos that are made spontaneously that I end up being so fond of; the images of moments that tell the story, of things found along the way.