Found Beauty

Found Beauty

August 01, 2025 - Friday

“I just let the pain take over, allowing it to numb the pain of being left behind.” ~ Jessica Sorensen
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This shot is from a few days ago. I had forgotten all about it until I passed the spot again this morning and saw the old chair still sitting there.
There was garbage scattered all around — the mess left behind after someone cleaned out an old store — but this chair caught my eye. Something about it… still upright, still shaped by the stories it’s carried.
Maybe I should do a whole layout of nothing but abandoned, thrown-out chairs. Think there’s a niche for that? 😄 I’ve heard of people making money off stranger things.
But honestly — if even one photo makes someone smile or feel something… then I’ve done my job. I’m doing what I enjoy, and I hope it brings a little light or laughter into your day too.  Pascagoula, MS 

 

Just Use a Card, Pawpaw

 

Just Use a Card, Pawpaw

July 31, 2025 Thursday

 “Sometimes when I need a miracle, I look into my grandchild’s eyes and realize I’ve already created one.” – Unknown
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Today has been a full Pawpaw kind of day, and let me tell you — I am worn out! I had Colton with me from early this morning, and we stayed busy from sunup until Daddy-O picked him up.

After we dropped Charlie off at school, Colton and I headed to the Beach Park. We played, laughed, and soaked in the morning light. Back home, the fun didn’t slow down one bit. Around 11:00, he crawled up into my lap and just melted into me. By 11:30, he was sound asleep and didn’t wake until nearly 2:30.

There’s something so special about that moment — holding him while he sleeps so peacefully. Knowing he feels safe, warm, and loved in my arms... well, it means more than I could ever put into words.

I’ve got a little story that gave me a good belly laugh today:
On the way to pick up Charlie this morning, we passed by the Waffle House. Colton spotted it and said, “Pawpaw, let’s stop and get waffles!” I told him, “I don’t have any money, buddy.” Without missing a beat, he said,
“That’s okay, Pawpaw — just use a card!”

I laughed so hard I couldn’t wait to tell Gage. That little boy is something else — smart, sweet, and just full of life. He’s a handful, sure… but he holds a big, big part of my heart.

Here’s a picture from the park this morning. One look at that face, and you’ll know exactly why today meant so much.

What We Don’t See

What We Don’t See

July 29, 2025 – Tuesday

“Be kind to people and don’t judge, for you do not know what demons they carry and what battles they are fighting.” ~ Vashti Quiroz-Vega

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Most mornings, I’m up by 4 a.m.

While most folks I know are just getting settled in for the night, I’m out chasing the day’s first light. I’ve been photographing the sunrise every morning for the past 15 years, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: the sun won’t wait. If I want to catch it, I have to show up.

 

This morning, I was back at The Point, walking the fishing pier before dawn. About halfway down, I noticed a man sitting alone on one of the benches. Just sitting quietly, staring out over the water. I’m pretty sure he slept there last night — maybe hoping the breeze off the water would keep him cool.

I don’t mean to sound paranoid but coming across someone out there that early makes me a little uneasy. Still, I spoke to him as I passed. He answered softly — just above a whisper.

Later, on my way back, I saw only his feet sticking out, his bicycle parked nearby, every bit of his life strapped to it. No name. No face. Just a quiet presence.

And a quiet reminder:

The line between “us” and “them” is thinner than we like to admit.

I’ve been guilty of judging too quickly — I think most of us have. It’s easier sometimes to look away, to shrug it off, to convince ourselves that people bring trouble on themselves. But the truth is, we don’t know what battles someone’s fighting.

We see the surface.

What we don’t see is the weight they carry.

 

Found Along the Way Back

Found Along the Way Back

July 28, 2025 -Monday
After all, the true seeing is within.” ~ George Eliot
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This morning at the Krebs Lake dock, the sun climbed gently over the water, soft and golden — the kind of light that doesn’t shout, but whispers you back to life. I was standing there, as I do most mornings now, watching the day begin. That’s when I noticed them — a pair of sunglasses left behind on the weathered planks. In one lens, I saw the sunrise. In the other, my own reflection.

It felt like a quiet message — a moment of seeing clearly.

On the way home, I noticed the bench on the little manmade island at IG Levy Park. Just one. Empty. Waiting. It looked like it had a story to tell, too — maybe one of quiet goodbyes or peaceful pauses. It made me stop and breathe.

 

Then not far from home, I passed two old chairs left out by the road. Rusted. Worn. One was sitting on the other like they were hugging and maybe saying ‘goodbye’ to each other. And I realized something: I’m seeing stories again — not just things. These scenes aren’t posed, not planned, not photoshopped or filtered. They’re just... real.

And the truth is, a few months ago, I wouldn’t have noticed any of this. I was in a darker place — one where worry clouded everything. But lately, it feels like I’m coming back to life. Not all at once. Just a little more each morning.

Maybe that’s why people connect with my photos. They aren’t just pictures. They’re how I see — and how I feel. Maybe folks see their own stories in them. Maybe, without knowing it, I’m helping someone else feel a little less alone.

And maybe — just maybe — this is what I’m meant to do right now.
 

The Quiet Side of Grief

The Quiet Side of Grief

July 27, 2025 - Sunday

 “Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of a pure heart.” — José N. Harris
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This morning at The Point, the clouds hung heavy, but the light still found a way to shine through — and that felt fitting. My heart was already carrying the weight of someone else’s sorrow. Lauren is hurting deeply right now, and there’s not a thing I can do to take that pain away. That’s the hardest part of being a parent… when your child is grieving and there’s no bandage big enough to cover the ache.

I know that kind of pain — the kind that makes you feel alone, even when your arms are full of family. You ask yourself, “Will this ever stop hurting?” And the truth is, maybe not completely. Some losses never really leave us. But the sharpness dulls, and in time, the memories — the good ones, the silly ones, the quiet, beautiful ones — begin to ease the weight.

Sometimes just being present, listening, and offering love is all we can do. And maybe that’s enough.

So I stood there this morning, watching the sun fight its way past the clouds. It reminded me that grief doesn’t mean we’re broken. It just means we’ve loved deeply. And when we carry the memory of those we’ve lost, we’re still holding a part of them with us — not in pain, but in honor.

If you’re hurting right now — like Lauren is — I hope you know you’re not alone. The sunrise shows up every day, whether we’re ready or not — a reminder that healing comes slowly, but surely… and never without love.