This photo essay contains no images.

Call this a post for the without images. I'm coming back from a shoot hours away from home, driving through a small rural town north of Montreal. Beautiful spot. I see an old man ahead of me, slowly walking up his driveway. The house is a small bungalow, painted baby blue and white; the man is wearing clothes that match perfectly—not in colour but in tone. I see this and I know...I KNOW there's a perfect image about to happen. I can feel it in my bones. As I drive past this totally random scene I quickly turn my head: and there it is. The man framed by his front door, his body still and crouched as if expecting the world to end, the house filling the entire background. A Christopher Pratt painting in every detail, from the subject's demeanour to the mood and the hues.

Of course it only lasts a second. Just enough time to realize what I've missed, what every single human being on the planet has missed along with me—unknowingly. A fragile moment recorded to nothing but my own imperfect memory, one of millions of masterpieces created only to be instantly destroyed.

We can never capture everything. But seeing at all times, under any circumstances, is entirely up to us. And for this we don't need the best camera money can buy or the most expensive lens on the market...we just need awareness.

Our eyes open to beauty in the making.