So misunderstood, so misused. Desolation, isolation, failed hopes and dreams.

Why do I take these pictures? The desert calls to me. When I'm there, I feel more alive. I suppose I'm attracted to the silence and majesty of the desert. It's uncompromising and spirit cleansing.

After midnight is magic time. The old two lane roads are empty and quiet. I can set my tripod up in the middle of the road and make a ten minute exposure without the fear of getting run over. If a car did come, I could hear its engine whispering on the breeze ten minutes before I ever see its lights.

The fluttering of bats wings, and the distinct howl of distant coyotes are the only sounds to keep me company. It's easy to see why the native American culture is so reverent about the power of nature.

Abandoned places take on a whole new dimension. Owls, cats and rats leap out at me as my boot hits that creaky floorboard, or snaps that unseen piece of broken glass. The wind murmurs to me from under the eaves and broken roof shingles. The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end constantly. These places are thick with atmosphere.