MDTripp signed the side that his imagination took him - Where does yours take you?


As the evening mist settles, I watch this family return to their sanctuary, a place that feels as much a part of them as the air beneath their wings. Graceful and sure, they glide to rest among the lush, glistening waters and the gentle embrace of their surroundings. The fading light of dusk casts a soft glow over this quiet moment, wrapping everything in a calm that speaks of harmony and the timeless rhythm of nature.


It wanders in the tangled web of its own doubt, quietly prowling for the fleeting favor of an audience. It offers nothing but the heavy silence of its presence, feeding on each stolen glance. What remains is the faint echo of its unrest, a hunger that notice alone can’t satisfy.


Life along Maine's rugged, serene coast slows with the day's end. Boats drift gently at anchor, their hulls shimmering in the cool glow of the setting sun. The calm waters and quiet shoreline hold a peaceful stillness, a moment of rest after a day spent exploring the hidden beauty of the barrier islands.


Vibrant koi glide effortlessly through the dark waters, their brilliant scales gleaming like jewels against the green-blue hues of the pond. They weave gracefully around one another, their movements creating gentle ripples that spread across the surface. The scene is a perfect blend of calm and energy, inviting you to pause and soak in the quiet beauty of the moment.


A shadow against the void, he rises, clinging to the flicker of fleeting hope. His existence feels like a puzzle, waiting to be pieced together. Great expectations weigh heavy on him, yet his faint ambitions leave him unmoored. His journey drifts, unpredictable and unsteady, caught in the winds of uncertainty.


A tranquil moment on the water, where life flows in rhythm with the rippling lake. A fisherman glides effortlessly across the surface, his boat a quiet companion to the vast expanse. Nearby, children wade in the cool embrace of the water, their laughter carried by the breeze. In the distance, mountains stand tall beneath a sky heavy with clouds, watching over a world that moves at its own unhurried pace.


As the night unfolds and shadows stretch long, solitude turns sacred—a quiet celebration of inner peace. In the embrace of darkness, two souls find comfort, rejoicing in the stillness only the night can offer. No words, no urgency—just the quiet togetherness of finding their way through the dark, side by side.


Beneath a sky scattered with stars, a chance encounter pulls a lost friend back into my world. Their voice, familiar and warm, cuts through the silence like a spark. Life rushes on around us, but in this quiet reunion, time slows. For a moment, nothing else matters—just the comfort of old ties, the kind that never truly fade.


The still waters mirror the towering karst mountains, a perfect reflection of China’s timeless beauty. A lone figure stands at the river’s edge, immersed in the quiet rhythm of nature. The soft morning light casts a golden hue over the landscape, blending sky and earth in a moment of serene harmony. Here, where mountains rise like ancient sentinels, the world slows, and tranquility takes hold.


The setting sun casts a golden glow over the open fields, filtering through the slender trees that stand like quiet sentinels along the roadside. The land stretches endlessly, bathed in soft light, where time seems to slow with the fading day. A lone figure moves in the distance, a fleeting presence in the vast expanse—just another moment in the rhythm of life, caught between earth and sky.


Young men journey along the Great Wall, their eyes filled with curiosity—eager to understand where I’ve been and where I’m headed. The quiet hierarchy among them lingers in my memory, a subtle reminder of the roles we play in life. This moment, frozen in time, is more than just a photograph—it’s a study of existence, of paths crossed and stories unfolding, all beneath the weight of history itself.


Rising into the morning mist, each step feels heavier than the last. In the mountains of China, I push forward, drawn by the promise of what lies beyond the veil of fog. With every breath, the world around me shifts—silent, mysterious, waiting. I climb, knowing that when the mist lifts, the landscape will unfold before me, breathtaking and endless, a reward for the journey.


A quiet moment by the water, where life moves at its own unhurried pace. The breeze stirs the laundry hanging on the line, sunlight filtering through the branches of an old tree. A lone figure bends at the water’s edge, lost in the rhythm of daily ritual. Simplicity and stillness intertwine here—a world untouched by urgency, where time lingers just a little longer.


The Carnival comes alive in a rush of color, like a song you can’t help but feel. Every shade has its place, bold and bright, blending into something bigger than itself. It’s not just a show—it’s a reminder that even in our differences, there’s a kind of magic when we come together. I see it, and it feels like joy, pure and uncomplicated.


The night pulses with a rhythm that feels alive, like the heart of Copa itself is keeping time. Under the glow of evening lights, strangers become part of the same story, moving together in a dance that’s equal parts passion and joy. It’s not just music—it’s a feeling, one that lingers long after the morning sun rises. I lose myself in it, and somehow, find something real.


She moves like she owns the room, not for the crowd, but for the one who holds her heart. Every step, every glance, feels like a quiet promise—a light she’s chasing, not for fame, but for something deeper. It’s not about being seen; it’s about being true. And in that, she shines brighter than any spotlight.


I wander down to one of DC’s quiet marinas, where the world feels slower, softer. Sailboats rest at their anchors, their masts pointing skyward like quiet sentinels. The city hums in the distance, but here, it’s just the water, the boats, and the calm. It’s a place where the noise fades, and I can breathe. Simple, serene, and exactly what I needed.


Twin figures, glowing like embers, emerge from the shifting waves of color, their mirrored forms bound together in a silent dance. The fluid lines and fiery hues pulse with movement, as if capturing a moment just before it dissolves into the unknown. There's a mystery here—something familiar yet just beyond reach, waiting to be understood.


With every step she takes toward me, I feel it—the weight of the moment, the sheer beauty of her presence. My heart swells, not just with love, but with the certainty that this is where I’m meant to be. Here, now, our souls lock together, not just for today, but for all the days to come. It’s more than a promise; it’s forever.


Something stirs in the air—a force that feels alive, circling its prey with a heat that rises from nowhere. The growls are low, almost hidden in the wind, but they’re there, a warning that prickles the back of my neck. It’s not just a storm coming; it’s something bigger, something I can’t quite name. The air feels heavy with what’s ahead, and all I can do is brace for the unknown.


The evening settles in, soft and quiet, as a single line ripples across the pond, breaking the stillness just enough to remind me it’s alive. Peace hangs in the air, easy and unforced. Home isn’t far, its light spilling warmth into the scene, wrapping this moment in something familiar and calm. It’s simple, but it’s everything.


My light holds steady, a quiet guardian against the night that presses in. It’s there, always, keeping the shadows at arm’s length, even as they stretch and claw, hungry for what’s inside. Every breath feels like a fight, but the light doesn’t waver. It’s mine, and it’s enough to keep the chaos from swallowing me whole. For now, that’s all I need.


The river moves like it’s alive, ribbons of light and color dancing over the rocks, carrying life in its flow. But below the surface, shadows linger—quiet, patient, dangerous. They don’t rush, don’t reveal themselves until it’s too late. It’s a reminder that even in the most beautiful moments, there’s always something lurking, ready to shift the balance in a single, swift pull.


Autumn wraps itself around the pond, its colors resting softly at the water’s edge. Golden light spills across the surface, so still it feels like a mirror. A breeze stirs, just enough to rustle the leaves and remind me that life is still moving, even here in this quiet corner. It’s a moment to pause, to take in the slow, beautiful shift of the season. Simple, but full of something deeper.


Summer’s warmth wraps around us, the night alive with laughter and light. But it’s her smile—her quiet joy in seeing me happy—that pulls me in. In this moment, it’s not the festivities that matter, but the way our hearts seem to beat in sync, stronger because we’re here together. The night buzzes around us, but all I see is her, and the simple, unshakable bond we’re building.


A lone trawler drifts down the Intercoastal, its slow, steady movement mirroring my thoughts as I walk the shoreline. The tall grass whispers around me, and the path ahead seems to stretch forever, inviting me to keep going. It’s quiet here, but not empty—there’s a kind of clarity in the stillness. With each step, I feel the pull of possibility, the question of where my own path might lead. It’s not about the destination, but the choice to keep moving.


The rhythm of coastal life—a life shaped by the sea. Those who fish its depths know the grind, the uncertainty. They dock with tired hands and full hearts, returning to the people they love. It’s a hard life, always at the mercy of the water, never knowing what tomorrow might bring.


In the quiet embrace of the gathering night, I feel a fusion of spirit—each moment a fleeting spark in the vast expanse of darkness. My thoughts reach beyond the horizon, stretching toward the unknown. Hope, like an unbroken thread, pulls me forward, a steady guide for those who dare to dream and seek what lies ahead.


The afternoon heat settles heavily over the worn stone steps, where exhaustion and ease blend into the rhythm of the day. Two men rest in the shade, lost in a moment of stillness, while another leans against a weathered post, a quiet smile playing on his face. Behind them, donkeys stand patiently, their presence as much a part of this place as the sunbaked walls and winding paths. There’s a raw honesty in this scene—life unfolding in its simplest, most unguarded form.


Golden light spills over the hillside, casting a soft glow on the whitewashed walls and blue railings. A woman waits in quiet stillness, wrapped in black, while another moves with purpose, cradling a burst of yellow against the muted tones of the evening. Below, the sea stretches into the distance, a lone ship drifting toward the horizon. This is a moment caught between movement and pause, between the rhythms of daily life and the endless pull of the open water.


Smoke rises gently as children gather around a small fire, their laughter weaving into the air like a familiar melody. The weathered houses stand on stilts above the water, their rusted roofs and peeling paint telling stories of time and tide. Fish hang to dry in the open air, a reminder of the daily rhythms that sustain this place. Life here is raw and real—held together by community, resourcefulness, and the ever-present embrace of the water.


With a practiced hand, he casts his net wide, letting it dance through the air before sinking into the shallow waters. The sea, calm and knowing, holds its secrets beneath the surface, while clouds drift lazily across the endless sky. A lone boat waits in the distance, tethered to the quiet rhythm of the tide. This moment—simple, steady, timeless—belongs to him and the water, bound by a connection as old as the horizon itself.


Laughter spills effortlessly from one, while the other watches with a quiet, knowing grin. Their joy is unguarded, as natural as the sunlight filtering through the palm trees. Leaning against the rough bark, they exist in a world untouched by time—where friendship is simple, the air is warm, and happiness needs no reason.


Barefoot and unbothered, they stand at the edge of their world—curious, watchful, alive in the quiet hum of the day. A wooden boat rests behind them, tethered to the land yet longing for the water. Nearby, a loyal companion waits, ears perked, sharing in the stillness. The air is thick with warmth, the scent of earth and salt lingering. Here, in the embrace of towering palms and soft sand, life moves at its own unhurried rhythm—a moment of simplicity, of childhood, of home.


The soft mud clings to his feet, the salty air thick around him. With a plastic bag in one hand and the weight of patience in the other, he reaches—whether for a catch, a treasure, or simply the rhythm of the moment. Behind him, boats rest in the distance, waiting for their time to drift. The day is fading, but here, in this small stretch of water and sky, life carries on in its own quiet pursuit.


The scent of salt and worn wood lingers in the air, tangled in the soft heaps of fishing nets spread across the floor. The man works in quiet rhythm, hands moving with the weight of experience, mending what keeps life steady. Beside him, a child stands, eyes lifted to something beyond—curious, waiting, absorbing the world in slow, quiet wonder. The space is dim, but the light filters through in streaks, painting a moment suspended between labor and daydreams, between past and future.


Under the harsh, unyielding glow of industrial lights, the world feels like it’s always moving, always building. The bridge stretches out, a path to something better, but it’s never finished—always under construction, always just out of reach. It’s a reminder that progress doesn’t mean rest. The weight of hope hangs heavy here, mixed with the ache of work that never seems to end. It’s not despair, but it’s not peace either. Just the grind of keeping going, even when the future feels fractured.


Deep inside, there’s a spark—something quiet but alive, urging me to reach for more, to chase what’s just beyond my grasp. But the path isn’t easy. I trip, I fall, I miss the beauty in things I don’t yet understand. It’s there, though, hidden in the unknown, waiting for me to slow down, to see it for what it is. Maybe the horizon isn’t the only thing worth chasing. Maybe the beauty is in the stumbling, too.


The forces of this world collide and intertwine, holding life in a fragile, perfect balance. In their harmony, I see the beauty of contrast—the way opposition shapes, strengthens, and ultimately brings us closer. Each moment, a reminder that growth comes from finding unity in difference.


Cold or heat, it makes no difference—it’s just another step on the relentless path of a migrant. Hope flickers, but the days blur, swallowed by the unforgiving world that offers no refuge. Silence is the only companion, the only choice—to endure, to keep moving, to dream of something better.


Gliding down the Intracoastal Waterway as the morning stirs to life. The wind waits, still and patient, until the sails are set free—ready to carry us toward another unknown adventure. This is the time to let worries slip away, to drift with the day, and lose ourselves in the endless beauty of the open water.


Amidst the boundless desert, two lovers stand together, bound by passion and tradition. The air hums with the weight of their love, sacred and unshaken. Soon, a feast will be shared—a celebration of their union, a testament to the richness of their hearts and the life they now begin as one.


Traveling the Silk Road, surrounded by countless passing faces, each lost in their own journey. But then, a familiar kind of soul—weathered by life, yet kind and curious. Always watching, always seeking to understand, offering quiet words about the world around us. A moment of connection in a place of endless movement.


Through scattered clouds, the city hums—a restless machine of millions, moving, striving, toiling. Below, the grind never stops, the weight of daily life pressing on. But above it all, a select few soar, untouched by the struggle, a stark reminder of the divide between those who labor and those who simply rise.


The quiet weight of winter settles over the harbor, where boats rest frozen in place, suspended in the stillness of the season. The water, now a sheet of ice, holds them steady, waiting for the thaw. Along the shore, houses huddle together, their lights a quiet promise against the cold. There’s a patience in this scene—life paused, yet never truly stopped.


The air hums with passion and grit as riders and spectators merge into the spectacle. In the whirlwind of motion and noise, rivalry and camaraderie intertwine, each moment a flash of intensity. The Derby isn’t just a race—it’s a pulse, a story, a surge of energy that refuses to be forgotten.


Golden light drapes itself over the harbor, casting a quiet glow on the boats as they sway in the still water. Masts reach toward the sky, their reflections stretching down into the glassy surface below. The air hums with the slow rhythm of a place that knows the tides well—where the day lingers just a little longer, and the water holds onto every last bit of warmth before nightfall.


The harbor stands still beneath a sky brushed with soft clouds, where tall masts pierce the air like sentinels of the sea. Their reflections ripple in the water, bending and swaying with each gentle movement. Along the shore, the quiet presence of the town lingers, its stories woven into the wooden hulls and weathered ropes. Time moves slowly here, carried by the tide.


Feels like a memory caught in motion—sunlight dancing on water, blades of grass bending in a quiet breeze. The edges blur, as if seen through half-closed eyes on a lazy summer afternoon. There’s a softness here, a kind of peaceful in-between space where light and color blend, where reality feels just out of reach but still familiar.


The glow of a single light cuts through the darkness, illuminating a quiet moment of transformation. Two performers, caught between who they are and who they’re about to become, paint their faces with careful precision. There’s an intimacy here—not just between them, but between artist and craft, between the seen and the unseen. The mirror reflects more than just their faces; it holds the weight of tradition, the anticipation of performance, and the quiet dedication behind the spectacle.


The city moves, but not in the way it should. Shapes flicker, outlines distort, and familiar streets feel like they’re slipping between realities. A figure stands in the middle of it all—part of the scene yet separate, almost dissolving into the chaos. The neon glow, the fractured lines, the static-like texture—it’s the feeling of being lost in a world that won’t sit still, where nothing is as clear as it once was.


Life moves in unseen currents, flowing, reaching, expanding. Vivid tendrils of color stretch outward, weaving energy into the depths of blue. Each strand pulses with movement, a quiet force spreading, growing, breathing. In this moment, creation is not still—it dances, unfurling in a symphony of light and motion.


Muted grays and soft whites blend into a quiet winter landscape, where trees stand bare, their reflections stretching into the still water below. A hush lingers in the air, as if the world itself has paused, holding onto something unspoken. There is a secret here, woven into the misty light, waiting to be understood in the silence.


The wind tears through the concrete canyons, sharp and unyielding, stripping the city of its usual hum. Each gust drives the streets closer to emptiness, pushing the last stragglers to find refuge. In the hush of the storm, the city stands still, bracing against the cold.


A quiet moment captured in soft hues, where delicate grasses reach upward, cradling a single bloom at their heart. The background hums with gentle light, a whisper of nature’s quiet abundance. Even in the simplest corners of the earth, life flourishes, reminding us to pause and see the beauty woven into the everyday.


A quiet hush lingers as dawn begins its slow ascent, threading golden light through the dense silhouettes of trees. Reflections ripple across the surface, blurring the line between earth and sky. There’s a feeling of stillness, yet beneath it, the promise of a new day awakens, shifting the night into morning’s embrace.


A moment suspended between the seen and the unseen—where form dissolves, yet presence lingers. Light fractures, weaving through organic textures and mirrored lines, hinting at something greater, something just beyond reach. It is neither body nor spirit, but the quiet force that exists between, the pulse of existence itself.


With unshakable resolve, they rise, refusing to be mere pawns in another’s game. Every move is a stand against those who would control them, every risk a step toward something greater. Failure lingers at the edges, but the fire within burns brighter—the taste of victory, however uncertain, is worth it all.


A delicate boundary where land and water blur, tangled reflections weaving a story of stillness and change. The branches stretch and twist, half-submerged, caught between two worlds—rooted in earth yet mirrored in the sky. Here, nature lingers in a quiet pause, a fleeting moment before the next shift in the tide.


The harbor rests in quiet anticipation, masts reaching skyward as if calling for the next journey. Reflections ripple across the water, blurring past and present, while the air hums with the unspoken stories of those who have come and gone. It is a moment of pause, a time to gather—before the winds shift and the sails unfurl once more.


Their bodies move in a rhythm only they understand, a dance of longing and unspoken truths. In the midst of the world’s relentless chaos, they exist in their own quiet universe—where a single touch says more than words ever could. This moment is theirs alone, a fleeting whisper of passion that refuses to fade, an undying echo of love and connection.


Beneath the gleaming surface of the metropolis, the unseen push forward, their hands shaping a world that barely acknowledges them. It’s the same story, told through generations—a relentless divide between those who rise and those who are kept below. An unspoken truth, an endless cycle, the weight of inequality woven into the fabric of existence.


The warmth of shared belief steadies the spirit, a quiet reminder that humanity is not lost. In this union of souls, hope takes root, growing in the spaces where doubt once lingered. It is here, in this fragile but powerful connection, that faith is rekindled—a promise that goodness still exists, waiting to be found.


From deep within the earth, a violent rupture spills forth, raw and unstoppable. It is destruction, yet it is also creation—reshaping, renewing, carving a path into the unknown. In the wake of chaos, new life stirs, a reminder that even in destruction, the earth never stops forging something new.


In the hush of the night, they move as one—each step deliberate, each footfall a quiet echo of purpose. The leader walks with certainty, the follower drawn by trust, their shared light cutting through the darkness. Shadows retreat in their wake, revealing the unseen, as they carve a path forward, guided by something greater than sight.


A storm of fury erupts, relentless and consuming, driven by the unshaken will to dominate. The land burns, the air thick with the echoes of battle, yet even in the wreckage, something remains. Through the chaos, through the destruction, the bonds of family hold strong—unbroken, unyielding, a sacred thread that even war cannot sever.


Those who rise to lead often lose their way, consumed by vanity and the hunger for control. Blinded by their own ambition, they mistake power for purpose, while the cost is paid in blood and silence. In the aftermath of war, lives become numbers, suffering reduced to a footnote—while those who caused it all stand untouched, indifferent to the wreckage left behind.


A quiet gaze meets the vast expanse, a lone presence in a world of endless blue. Ripples whisper across the water, breaking the stillness, yet the moment remains untouched. There’s curiosity here, perhaps challenge—an unspoken question hanging in the air. Is it observation, or is it recognition? Whatever the answer, the watcher does not look away.


In our heaviest moments, when the world feels unbearable, a quiet whisper stirs—a reminder that hope is never truly lost. Just as we teeter on the edge of surrender, it finds us, slipping through the cracks, igniting something deep within. A flicker of belief, a reason to keep going—proof that even in darkness, the light is never too far away.