I’ve always been a quiet person by nature, a watcher and observer. I guess I’ve always looked for things that might bring me a little spark of joy, a small sense of awe, something beautiful I could soak in as a brief escape. I didn’t notice it at first — how naturally my eyes searched for these things — but over time I realized I was doing it almost instinctively.

I think, without even realizing it, I began doing this in the harder seasons of my life — when things felt heavy, uncertain, or overwhelming. It was my way of searching for something steady to hold onto, something gentle to balance out the noise. Over time, it became second nature: noticing the small beautiful things that reminded me I was still here, still moving, still able to see light even on difficult days. Like most people, I move through my days balancing responsibilities and stress. Then suddenly, something small will catch my eye. The way sunrise reflecting off rough steel plates can make them look painted in gold. How raindrops on glass hold tiny reflections, like each one is its own little world. Or even how ethereal bright morning sunshine spilling across the floor and spraying up against the wall of a drab hospital corridor can look.

You really can find beauty anywhere, if you pause long enough to notice. I think I started doing this as a kind of coping mechanism in stressful times — a calming escape I could carry with me. At some point, I began taking pictures, not just looking. It was my way of trying to capture that feeling and save it for later, so I could return to it when I needed it most.

Recently, I was walking my dog, Maggie, at my favorite park on the Hudson River around sunset. We sat at the end of the path to watch the last embers of sunlight fade — and of course, I took some pictures. As we rested, a woman walked up and stood a few yards away. She paused for a moment, looking out at the sky, and then raised her camera. I watched her silhouette against the fading colors and wondered: What is she seeing? What made her want to hold on to this? Was it the way the colors softened as they rose above the horizon? The reflection of gold and pink across the water? The jagged breakwater against the softness of the sunset?

I realized in that moment that her act of noticing was beautiful in itself. So I lifted my camera one more time and took a picture — of her, seeing beauty in the world, just as I was.

And maybe that’s why these glimpses of beauty matter so much to me. They aren’t just pretty scenes. They’re little proofs — reminders that even in ordinary routines, even in heavy or uncertain moments, there’s still something worth noticing. Something that says, see, you made it through this day, and look what you found along the way.

That’s why I take pictures: to notice, to remember, and to hold on to beauty in the everyday.

To explore my sunset gallery, click here.