This morning, I woke up heavy with all of the news, and I decided I needed to find myself, get grounded.

I asked myself, who am I? What am I about?

I accept the human condition, as awful as it can sometimes be, as wonderful.

I am not about fear or anger and lament. There are plenty of soldiers carrying those banners.

My life is not about violence and argument. I do not need machine guns in my life to feel like a man.

My little rifle can hold my fort.

I will not surrender my life to gloom or despair. No one can do that to me.

In my head, my soul, there is an unreachable part, something that is all mine and can never be taken.

I drove out in search of the most beautiful farm in the middle of the day, when photographers hide and nap,

because the light is too strong, and I go to a beautiful road in Shushan and found it, sitting

up there on the hill, waiting for me.

And I stood out in the wind and sun and closed my eyes in the strong light, and took a breath, and

pointed my camera, and I swear, my friends, I heard the farmhouse whispering to me, lisping through the bricks,

who are you?

And I stood in the road, bowed against the wind, and I replied. I am the man who comes to take your photograph,

you beautiful thing. I know you have heard of me.

And the farmhouse said, thank you, go home to your wife now, and give thanks for your life and do not wallow in lament

and panic.

And I did.