I’ve been a street photographer since 2007. I was out taking shots daily, no matter the weather.  We moved to a rural island in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay when Covid hit in March 2020 and stayed there until my husband Tom’s death in December 2022. As he passed, I was too grief-stricken to pick up a camera. The thought of seeing happy people on the street threw me into a deeply sad state. I was in a fog and could barely muster the strength to get out of bed in the morning. We were married for thirty-six years and still held hands when out in public. We moved as one. When he died, life as I knew it ceased to exist. I also lost both of our sixteen-year-old dogs within a couple of months of losing Tom. The loneliness overwhelmed me. This was the first time in my life I was on my own. I was so confused. I had no one to care for but myself. Who was I? 

In March of 2023, I decided to take a ride to the horse country north of Baltimore. It is three years since the last time I was there. We used to visit the horses in random paddocks along the roads. The horses flocked to Tom, and all the animals did. He was an old soul with a gentle demeanor. Some of the horses in our favorite paddock are over thirty years old. One in particular was partial to Tom. He was there the day I decided to go. I parked my car on the grass alongside the fence, and he approached me. He then walked to the car, looking for Tom. His head turned from side to side, and he looked confused. I walked over to him and told him Tom had died and was now with us in spirit only. Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed. This magnificent,  sweet creature felt my pain and put his face on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cried for about five minutes. I felt him absorb my sadness. He made me feel better. I massaged the favorite spot on his neck for about thirty minutes. We bonded. This was the first time I felt a break in the constant torture of grief. I found myself visiting Brownie  (my not-so-creative nickname for him) and the others almost every day for months. I talked to them and told them how beautiful they were and thanked them for easing my sadness and pain. I  always had my camera with me and took candid shots of them, both beautiful and funny. Their personalities vary as much as those of humans. They do a lot of very silly things, and I truly enjoyed capturing them. I laughed for the first time in months. Communicating with them was a  wonderful form of therapy for me.  

Their backs remind me of landscapes. I call them “horsescapes”. The movement of their gorgeous, majestic forms reveal striking abstract compositions. I absolutely love them. We are true friends. I feel they understand me more than most people. They have truly helped me in my journey through grief. The photos, which were just random shots in the beginning, grew into this project I call “Equine Beauty”.