Collecting

Barefoot in the rough, pockets full of treasure. Collecting a quiet obsession, golf balls, lost to the fairway’s edge, now found by someone who sees them not as equipment but as artifacts. There’s something sacred in the hunt, the tiny victories stacked one by one in small hands.

Shot on a sunlit evening in Park City, this image is less about sport and more about discovery. The boy moves through tall grass like it’s his domain—shirtless, sunlit, unstoppable. Every ball he finds is a story, a clue, a mystery solved. Childhood, in its purest form, is just that: wandering with purpose toward nothing in particular.