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At 8:18 tonight, David Day and I are driving the streets of Scottsdale and feel trapped.
In the midst of bland Corporate Land, the battered, vintage arch is unexpected.
When I finally notice the old man, he is looming over me with his arms raised over his head.
In my dinner with a new colleague, Kim, we have just reached a major turning point.
It is Sunday morning and my soul is, once again, soaring on the intricacies of the music of Bach.
As I step outside to photograph the snow that is quickly building on the grass, I decide to get as close as the camera will let me.
Every year, I am always taken by surprise by the first sign of life in the garden.
Two seats over from me in a crowded airport gate, a young teen bends over his sketchbook. I decide we should talk.