At some point growing up Bennett Carnahan commandeered his father’s SLR and miscellaneous assortment of lenses. So armed, he began to haunt the local train yards, cemeteries, gardens, and coffee shops, stalking the allusive Moment.
He now worships and works in Maryland, where he teaches European history, writes poetry, music, and short fiction, and takes the occasional photograph (still with the same camera). He also keeps snakes.
On a deliciously bleak autumn afternoon, my wife and I walked down to the small rail-yard near the center of our town. It seems to me that there is no piece of modern machinery so readily romanticized as the train, and we spent several happy hours wandering across the...
At one time we lived on a less-than-manicured street in a less-than-sturdy birdhouse of an apartment. The lot next to us was occupied by a condemned house, a reclusive vagrant, an army of squirrels, and an abandoned tub. I have always been fascinated by the clash of...
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Finally understanding what it is to be baptized into Christ’s death.
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