Nature

Reflections on nature as a source of perspective, creativity, and influence on work and environment. Just take a minute to relax.

Weekend First Fall Hike in Westchester New York

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After spending the week working indoors, it was nice to get out and experience nature. This weekend, I went to the Baxter Preserve located in Northern Westchester. There was a beautiful combination of park land and open farm space.

Everyone was welcome to roam. There were people going for walks, riding horses, and running around with dogs. I even brought a long leash so my dog Dyson could explore the area more freely.

Right outside of the nature preserve were nice shops and places to eat. I met up with a coworker who lived nearby and we had a good time hanging out. This was truly the perfect weekend.

baxter preserve by the pond with sarah
baxter preserve dyson running

I have to give credit to Sarah Philips, pictured above, for the idea to come out here. It was the perfect escape during the COVID-19 Pandemic.

Tatooine Over the Hudson : Forest Fires

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This past year has been filled with plenty of “pinch me” moments. Witnessing the sky turn orange was one of them. The widespread forest fires in California (and the west coast in general) were so bad that it affected the atmosphere on the east coast as well. This created a really weird sunset that I was lucky enough to snap a picture of #nofilter.

While staring at the foggy orange sky, I could not believe this was real life. I was immediately reminded of the Tatooine sunset from Star Wars. Experiencing this unnatural occurrence was creepy, but still sort of cool.

Rain Dance for Arizona on Bell Rock Trail

The sky over Sedona looked heavy, the kind of gray that can’t decide if it’s going to give you shade or finally give you rain.

On Bell Rock Trail, the red earth felt wide and open, stretched out like a stage. I stood there with my arms thrown up, half-joking, half-hopeful, doing my best rain dance for Arizona. The rocks held their rust color under the clouds, and the whole desert seemed to pause and listen.

angel at bell rock
angel taking photo arizona red rock
arizona red rock after rain
arizona vortex tree

Hiking out here has a way of making you pay attention to small shifts: wind changing direction, a cooler breath of air, the way distant buttes fade when mist drifts through. It’s not the same as a summer storm back home, where rain arrives loud and certain. This was more like a question hanging in the sky.

I don’t know if the dance worked. Maybe it’s enough that it made me stop and look around, to feel how big the landscape is and how quiet you can get inside it. Even when the ground is dry, you can still sense what it’s waiting for.

If you’ve ever walked Bell Rock Trail under a brooding sky, you know the feeling: that the desert isn’t empty at all. It’s just patient.

Boys in the Jungle

There’s a certain kind of quiet you only find in a room full of plants. Not silence exactly—more like a soft, green breathing. Leaves cut across the light like slow-moving shadows, and everything feels paused for just a second, as if the city outside is holding its noise at the door.

Boys in the Jungle is what we called it, which sounds dramatic until you realize it’s just two of us standing close, half-hidden behind long blades of green. A mirror selfie, sure, but also a small record of being together in a place that asks nothing from you except to look.

The plants do what old houses do: they make the air feel lived-in. They hold onto warmth. They turn the ordinary—glass, fluorescent light, a phone held at chest height—into something a little more like a scene you’d remember later.

We’re in Brooklyn, but the image doesn’t insist on location. It insists on texture: patterned shirts, hats pulled low, the bright wash of indoor light, and the bold interruptions of leaves in the foreground. The jungle isn’t wild; it’s curated. Still, it has that same effect—making you feel smaller in a good way, like you can step back from yourself.

Sometimes that’s all a photo needs to do: prove that a moment existed, green and uncomplicated, before you walked back out into the day.

Boys in the Back yard

Some evenings feel like they’ve been waiting all day to arrive.

The backyard is still, the kind of stillness that doesn’t ask for silence, just a little attention. Light pours through the trees and settles on the deck rails, turning plain wood into something warmer, almost new. It’s the same yard, the same familiar space, but the hour changes everything—softening edges, stretching shadows, making the ordinary look briefly cared for by the sun.

Boys in the back yard can mean a lot of things. Sometimes it’s noise and motion. Sometimes it’s just being there—sitting down, breathing out, letting the day fall away in small pieces. A chair that holds your weight. A breeze that moves through leaves without much effort. A dog nearby, content and watchful, as if this routine is part of the yard’s foundation.

I like moments like this because they feel unedited. Nothing is being improved or renovated. There’s no big event, no announcement—just a quiet scene that reminds you how much of life is made from repeat places and passing light.

If you stay long enough, the sun slips behind the trees and the yard returns to itself. But for a while, it’s enough to sit on the deck and let the evening do what it does best: make a home feel bigger.

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