About This Space

There are places in the world where silence isn’t an absence, but rather, a presence. It’s a type of conversation that begins as the noise falls away, and the quiet comes in. I’ve spent much of my life chasing those places — the high ridges where wind becomes its own instrument, and the canyon hollows that willingly share the half-light they hold.

Field Notes from Nowhere began as a way of recording some of those encounters. It isn’t a list of destinations, but a catalog of moments that seemed to offer something back — an exchange between landscape and attention.

I’ve come to believe that the world is always speaking, and that deep listening and deep seeing are forms of diligence. These small moments — the call of a bird descending from a nearby tree, or the call of a friend, seeping through the static, just enough to bring a smile — are their own reward.

By trade, I’m a technologist. I work with systems designed for efficiency, telemetry, and data. But the mountains and valleys remind me that presence is not a problem to be solved, but a practice to be held. Each entry here is a record of that practice: poems, essays, photographs, and field notes gathered from the high ridges of nowhere, and quiet places that I continue to return to. Some begin as long walks with no goal at all; others arise from the simple need to stand on a summit. Each one, in its own way, is a micro-transmissions. A small attempt to capture what means to be both observer and participant, in the broader, ever-growing landscape around me.

There is no destination in this work. Only the continuation of attendance — a diligence that longs to witness “that moment” one more time, and the hope to share it with whoever happens to be listening.

Thanks for hearing me

es 73

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