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A Schoolhouse and a Cottonwood (Fall Equinox, Sept 22nd, 2020)


It was the fall equinox, a celestial split. COVID dominated life, Trump was nearing the end of his four-year term, and nature was beginning its dormant season. It felt like a standoff—or a standstill. For years, I had wanted to photograph a cottonwood by the Skagit River, where a large eagle’s nest resided, as well as an old schoolhouse that continued to tilt closer to the ground. Sitting just a few blocks apart, I walked back and forth between the two every half hour, from sunrise to sunset—for twelve hours. The leaves and the school wouldn’t last much longer; the school is now gone, and the cottonwood has transformed through more seasons of growth and dormancy. Trump is president again, and life presses forward.




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A Schoolhouse and a Cottonwood (Fall Equinox, Sept 22nd, 2020)


It was the fall equinox, a celestial split. COVID dominated life, Trump was nearing the end of his four-year term, and nature was beginning its dormant season. It felt like a standoff—or a standstill. For years, I had wanted to photograph a cottonwood by the Skagit River, where a large eagle’s nest resided, as well as an old schoolhouse that continued to tilt closer to the ground. Sitting just a few blocks apart, I walked back and forth between the two every half hour, from sunrise to sunset—for twelve hours. The leaves and the school wouldn’t last much longer; the school is now gone, and the cottonwood has transformed through more seasons of growth and dormancy. Trump is president again, and life presses forward.




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