Sedona, AZ.

This is River, standing in the hot mid-day sun. When I first shook his hand, he was holding a sign that said "Great Investment Me." He was pleased to call me by my name to show that he’s getting his memory back after an accident left him disabled in 2008. He’s been sober all that time.

He said he had recently felt a calling to come to Sedona after living in Grand Junction, CO for the past several years. There, he says, he was instrumental in ministering to street people, helping establish a program where they could earn "Good Samaritan" dollars from the police, city officials, and business owners who recognized when the homeless were helpful in the community they could receive vouchers for food or services.

He believes Sedona is a caring community and he's begun reaching out to local civic and church leaders while making connections within the homeless population here. Before I left he blessed me, telling me the story of Jesus and the Widow’s Mites, which serves as his inspiration to help others. He doesn’t have much, he says, but whatever he gives always comes back to him more. A food truck, closing up for the day, came by. The driver leaned out and handed River three burritos. He said he would eat one and give the others away.

He smiled when I told him he was handsome, and he said he had just cut his own hair. “Before this, I looked like Santa."

Yavapai Point, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona.

“The light is always changing. You just have to pick a moment and say, ‘That’s it.’ There...that’s it.”

Plein air painter Robert Green of San Diego at Yavapai Point in the morning light of Grand Canyon National Park. Green had been in the Park for two weeks as part of the 11th annual Grand Canyon Celebration of Art, and he seemed to be most pleased with the light and quality of his work on his last morning there.
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Fort Myers, FL. (1 of 3).

This is Brandon, working out with his “practice” signboard to get in shape for a new job in California starting in January. He says it’s been 6 months since he picked up "the board" and although he’s been working as a cook, he considers dancing on the sidewalk with a foam signboard to attract customers into a business to be his primary job.

When I showed him his photos, he exclaimed, “Oh wow, you made my day!” He said people often take his picture without stopping to talk, and until now no one had ever shown him the photos. “I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said as we parted.

Fort Myers, FL (2 of 3).

Fort Myers, FL (3 of 3).

El Paso, TX.

This is Gerard, the doorman at a historic downtown theater. He's waiting for the end of the night's performance - a poetry reading to raise funds for "El Paso Strong," the organization formed in response to the hate crime where a gunman killed 22 and wounded 24 on August 3, 2019.

“The disappointing thing is that El Paso has always been the safest city in the US. Since that shit at the Walmart, whenever anyone thinks of us, it's something different."

"I grew up in LA," he continued. "There, everyone is always rushing to get to where they're going. Here, it's not like that. People still say, "Yes, Ma'am" and "No, Sir" and they'll hold the door for you."

This is Steve, watching traffic from the drive-thru window of the “boat-friendly” Catch ‘Um Bait Shop in Ft. Myers. The paint caught my eye and I stopped to talk fishing. He says it’s improved after all the bad news coming out of Okeeckobee, the Caloosahatchee, and the Gulf in 2018. Oh, and the bright colors? His Mom’s idea. She died three months after it was painted.

Park Slope, Brooklyn.

This is Sangine. When she saw my camera, she wanted to talk. “Being able to see beauty in the world is everything. You’re either born with it, or there’s some who can learn it, but if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.”

Queens, NYC.

At the skate park, Jason saw my camera and sat down beside me to talk photography. He told me how he spends time in thrift shops around the city looking for old gear, hoping to learn how to fix it up.

"I don't care about selling it, or making any money from photography," he said, "I just want to do what I love." He's wishing he could take a gap year or two after he graduates because he badly wants to go to Japan to learn more about art.

"There's so many mean people in this world. I just want to be happy and make everyone else feel that way too."

Freedom, NH. 119th Old Home Week Parade, 2018. (1 of 2).

This is our 91-year-old neighbor, Peg, who passed away not too long ago. We always loved her "joie de vivre."

In Freedom, the annual parade passes by twice, from one end of the village to the other and back. Peg always watched from her front porch.

On this morning, I stopped to talk, and I asked her what her favorite parade entry was this year. She immediately told me, "The 3-wheel motorcycles, the Spyders. I especially love the last one with painted with flames. One day I'm going to get a ride on one."

Five minutes later, I looked up and here she came on the last one.

Freedom, NH. (2 of 2).

Fort Myers, FL.

This is Daniel Richard in a downtown doorway. I stopped to listen and talk about his Ovation guitar. “I've had it since '92," he said in a gravely Tom Waits voice, "but it was made in '86. Never plugged it in. Garth Brooks used to play one like it."

Pointing to a journal in the case, he said he’s written over 30 songs in his life and he is making his way to Key West to record them. He plans to release the album only on 8-track because it sounds better than digital and he doesn't want to risk losing control of the recording files.

At one time Nashville told him he could be a big star if he'd only change his name. "But my momma cared enough to give me this name, and it's not up to me to change it." he said. “Besides, Nashville is all shit.”

As the songs continued, a downtrodden old man shuffling by dropped a cross woven from a palm frond in the guitar case. Daniel stopped and gave him all the cash there. It moved him to close with one of his gospel blues, "God Made Me Blessed." There’s no one more honest than a street musician...

Brooklyn.

This is Ace Man. I met him when I helped him retrieve a penny that had fallen over a wall.

He gave me the penny.

This is artist Ben Dale of Bisbee, AZ playing a Yaybahar, a Turkish instrument he sculpted himself.

(Video below).

Before we left on our expedition to southern Arizona, the mother of one of my students contacted me asking if we could seek out Ben, a close college friend in Brooklyn she had lost touch with over 30 years ago. In a roundabout way, we found him and agreed to meet in a Bisbee park where some of his sculptures are featured. He surprised us like this at our rendezvous, and he immediately recognized the face of his old friend in her daughter.

Beautiful, sweet, mysterious...and long lost connections reaffirmed.

Brooklyn, NYC.

This is James, who is attending an American university in Pennsylvania, out on a Thanksgiving morning walk. He was in NYC for the holiday break, and it seemed just a little lonely on the quiet streets...and perhaps a long distance from his family in Shanghai.

When I stopped for coffee, I met AJ. I asked him whom he thought of while playing and he said, “Family.” He then said that he’d come from Detroit nine years ago.

Does he have family here? “No,” he replied. “Anyone important is dead.” His song stayed with me all day.

Fort Myers, FL.

This is "Trumpet Santa" Barry and Bella. I found them by following the sound of "The Old Rugged Cross" echoing off the downtown buildings. Barry had just recently picked up his instrument after many years, playing old Southern gospel hymns from memory. He was desperate to raise money for car repairs after someone poured water in his gas tank.

Chris Wood of The Wood Brothers at the Ossipee Valley Music Festival in Hiram, Maine on July 28, 2018. He's dancing in the shadows while his band mates play a sweet, mellow groove. One of the highlights of the concert was the song "Postcards from Hell," dedicated to musicians, artists, bakers, mothers, anyone who keeps a creative spark burning inside when life gets too big - that's basically all of us in some way or another. The chorus goes, "I've got a soul that I won't sell, and I don't read Postcards from Hell." It was a beautiful moment.
At the festival in recent years, organizers have adorned the corners of the stage with buckets of sunflowers. Coincidentally, the song Postcards from Hell comes from an album titled "Loaded" which features on the cover a photograph of two figures whose faces are hidden by sunflowers. Chris Wood spontaneously grabbed a flower while dancing this night. It was an unplanned and serendipitous reminder of the creative spark within us all. He hung the sunflower on the moon.
Go find the song and listen.

Fort Myers, FL.

This is Holly (“like Christmas”). She was taking in the setting sun against an orange wall downtown when I asked permission to take her photo.

I suggested she think of someone she loves. I then asked her to share who she thought of. She said “God, because he’s kept me here for 94 years.” Although she’s nearly blind, God has moved her to start an university in her home. “He’s told me he’s going to let me live six more years to see the university come to pass,” she said.

Before I left she held my arm, leaned in close, and whispered, “There’s always a reason for everything.”