In New England, fairs ramp up the completion of summer in the late weeks of August. When crickets chorus, morning and night, and golden hour hits around 7 o’clock.

This seasonal change, from summer towards fall, is intoxicating to me and has a special way of coaxing my attention to points of insignificance - everything is important.

Guided by my seasonal clock, fueled by the potency of nostalgia and custom, I go to the fair each year in search of the tiny threads linking us. Not through the audacity of experience but rather simply, through our shared passage of time.

These images are a subset from the larger project, August Gets Cold at Night - a body of work curated as a love letter to Summer.