We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one direction, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations. Anais Nin

Mulitple exposure image of a window reflection of the historic Sherry Frontenac Hotel in North Miami Beach and a fireplace in central Ohio | July 2013