Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.

Where we are going, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the place that is important but the steps in between.

Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.