Every picture tells a story.

I have been drawn to nature for as long as I can remember. Long before I understood photography, I understood the feeling of being outdoors: the stillness of early morning, the sound of birds before sunrise, the movement of water, and the sense that the living world becomes more visible when we slow down enough to see it.

Today, many of my favorite photographs begin in exactly that way. Sometimes I am on a distant journey, surrounded by the extraordinary wildlife of Africa. At other times I am close to home, moving quietly across a Wisconsin lake at sunrise with my dog, Mikey, beside me. The places may be very different, but what I am looking for is much the same—a moment that feels honest and unrepeatable.

I am fascinated by the individuality of animals. A lion resting above the plains, a gorilla looking directly toward me, an osprey gathering itself before flight, or a tiny insect peering around a leaf can each reveal something unexpected. I try not to impose a story on these encounters while I am photographing them. My task is first to watch, to wait, and to be present when the moment arrives.

Photography has taught me that beauty is not confined to the spectacular. It can be found in fog hanging over a harbor, a reflection on still water, an old leaf beneath winter ice, or the expression in an animal's eyes. Often the photographs that stay with me longest are the quiet ones—the moments I might have missed had I been in too much of a hurry.

That is ultimately why I make photographs. I want to preserve these brief encounters and share something of what it felt like to witness them. If an image causes someone to linger for a moment, to look more closely, or to feel a little more wonder and respect for the natural world, then the photograph has accomplished something meaningful.

“The camera records the moment. Attention allows us to experience it.”

— Walter Hunt