There's something magical about a sense of place. The light, warmth and shadows unique to that inch of land all play a role in making each blade of grass and bud of flower a new variation of life. It's an endless cycle of sprouting, decaying, dormancy and rebirth. Getting to capture a moment in time and place to hold in your own space through bringing a little piece of the outside in is no small kind of miracle.

Growing up in the Catskill Mountains of Upstate NY, I was inescapably surrounded by nature. My parents would take us kids out to the nearby nature preserve and taught us to let the woods' secrets unfold, reading the dirt for stories. After falling in love with Lancaster over many visits, I moved here in 2017. There's a different wildness here, but one no less special. It's the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow over the meadows and hills, a quiet mist creeping slowly over the bountiful uncut grass. Other things remind me of childhood in their similarities - fireflies blinking in the twilight, chimney swifts circling along the horizon, and anticipation for the mysterious lullaby of the cicadas, a song I'm still never able to catch beginning.