In 1949, Paul Bowles wrote in his celebrated novel The Sheltering Sky:
“Because we don’t know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well, yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a particular afternoon, one so woven into your soul that it feels inseparable from who you are? Perhaps four or five more times—perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Maybe twenty. And yet it all seems limitless.”

It was with these words echoing in my mind that, one quiet morning in the fog-draped winter, I began a journey—one not of distance, but of presence. A journey to collect and preserve the fleeting, luminous fragments of life. To record them in words and images. To honor the moments we too often pass by, believing them infinite.