I was riding a Great Western train somewhere between Oxford and London in late June. I liked the reflections in the window offset by the peacefulness of the neighborhoods. This helped me to understand more clearly that something doesn’t have to be perfect to tell a story; perfection wouldn’t be reality.

I was riding a Great Western train somewhere between Oxford and London in late June. I liked the reflections in the window offset by the peacefulness of the neighborhoods. This helped me to understand more clearly that something doesn’t have to be perfect to tell a story; perfection wouldn’t be reality.