January 2026

Every spring the local fields and hills experience a renewal. After long months of dry, drought conditions, the winter months provide much needed rain making the native flora thrive in jubilant splendor.

The sound of his guitar blends with the wind and the murmur of the street, each note finds an ear, awakens a memory, draws an unexpected smile. Amid the traffic and passing conversations, he creates a moment that belongs to everyone, a reminder that to thrive is also to share what makes us come alive,

He heads out before the sun, hands marked by the sea and the patience of someone who knows how to wait, every cast of the net is more than fishing: it’s an act of life, of livelihood, of connection with the ocean and those who rely on his work. In his simple routine, you can

Walking on the sand after surfing is a small moment that says it all, salt still on the skin, laughter blending with the sound of the waves, feet sinking into every footprint. They come back from the sea, but a piece of the sea stays with them and watching them, you remember how simple it

It’s a beautiful sunset along PCH in Malibu

A 5 AM kind of morning, we packed the camera and went on a road trip, dawn, surfers in the water, palm trees, ocean, and coffee in the middle of conversations.

I shot this in my backyard, during a downpour. Everything was soaked, the ground, the plants, the air. My son’s blue kickball had been left out, sitting quietly in the rain. I noticed how it rested against the red blooms, how balanced the whole scene felt. There was something peaceful about it. Like the yard

When I moved into this house, I had big hopes. A cozy, safe space for my son… a place where he could run, climb trees, and feel free. Life, as it does, surprised me. This place, this home, found me. It had everything I asked for… and even things I didn’t know I needed. Like

There’s a house I pass every morning on the way to drop my son at school. Sometimes the cat appears in the left window, perfectly balancing the stuffed animal pressed into the right. The whole scene feels frozen in time, a quiet relic from the 60s, worn but still standing with so much heart. I’m

Just outside the museum, before stepping into a room full of Monets, I saw this. A bike, buried beneath bags, each one tied with intention, stacked like a sculpture. It felt accidental and deliberate all at once. There’s tension in the frame: top-heavy, asymmetrical, quietly chaotic. I cropped tighter than usual, which felt unfamiliar at

There’s something quietly absurd about this scene. All that vibrant pink and turquoise joy, half-hidden behind layers of green palms, hedges, cactus spines. The inflatable castle just barely peeking out, like a secret you weren’t meant to catch. It was a kid’s birthday. You could hear the laughter. But from this vantage, it feels different.

In a city of millions… someone found a way to make space for one small swing. A piece of rope, a tree, a sidewalk. Nothing fancy. But a child doesn’t care about the setting only the joy of the motion, the lift, the freedom. In the middle of concrete and noise, a little patch of

This was from the holiday season, 2024. A deflated deer on the driveway. Chalk hopscotch still fresh from the afternoon. The light was raking across it all, low, soft, end-of-day kind of light. I love that this could’ve been taken in another decade. There’s something about it, the colors, the quiet, the leftovers of play

These bleachers live in the heart of Ojai. To me, they’re iconic, weathered, green, classic. They wrap around the tennis courts like quiet spectators. Still. Timeless. A steady part of the town’s rhythm.

A foggy field. An old yellow spinner. It still turns, not like it used to, but it turns. Some things don’t need to move fast to remind us what motion feels like.

Early one morning, I stood at the top of this old metal slide, dew still clinging to its surface. From up here, the ground feels farther away, like you’re seeing the whole worn-out story of childhood in one glance. The patch of dirt at the bottom tells its own quiet story too: a thousand small

Moonrise at leo carrillo state park shot by iphone

MILY WAY ABD SQUAID BOAT SHOT BY IPHONE

Leo Cariillo iphone shot of milky way

Sunset with squids boat at Countyline iphone

Red Sky Squid boats

Squid boats at sunset

This photograph represents thriving as something quiet and private. In Ventura County, not all growth is visible or celebrated. Sometimes thriving means continuing to open yourself to the world, even in uncertainty or darkness. This moment reminded me that resilience doesn’t need an audience to be real.