There is a profound solace in being still, in being present. I have felt that stillness manifest itself in moments such as watching leaves fall from an oak tree, a gentle kiss of a cool breeze on my cheeks as summer melts into fall, a glimmer of a child smiling as they pass on the bus, fearlessly heading towards their future. I began to further study the places I lived and loved, from Brooklyn to Harlem and beyond. I observed the moments that gave life to our community. Things like children playing, lovers stealing a moment on the subway, vendors hustling, solitude in the middle of a crowd, the things that seem ubiquitous and everyday, but also paradoxically defining. Living in these neighborhoods and seeing their evolution, particularly in the black community, my community, felt like a passage of time I had the privilege of bearing witness to. I felt the stories formed and shaped by these interactions between life and location, and I also felt more of a responsibility as a witness to document these stories. These moments that seemed to be like bubbles in space and time, delicate and ephemeral, but plentiful. If we don’t tell these stories, our truths, someone else will grasp control of that narrative.