The smog and echo of car horns that fill the air of Sacramento become distant, and disappear altogether as you drive out of the city and its surrounding suburbs. Highway 17 veers away from the rising businesses and bustling crowds, slowing to the smell of alfalfa in the hushed air, and the rumble of cracked pavement ageing in the sun. The cows become neighbors with dirt roads and rusting barbed wire fences as intersections to their acres. They peer in curiosity at the visiting face and vehicle, only to continue on with their play. Going north from the city, I-80 thins to a two lane road winding through towering pines. They clean the air of the exhaust coming from trucks below; passersby stretching the length of the state, many beyond. Leaving the freeway is a hop out of the path well traveled and into an envelope of rocks and trees that breathe rhythmically through the day and night. The chatter of birds welcomes the sunrise, and the howl of the grey wolf sings into the icy night. In a space between the two sits I-50, teetering northeast through flat, hot expanse, and up through snowy mountains and thick woodlands. These are the homes I discovered by leaving the city on voyages into self declared sanctuaries of quietude. Spaces to dwell and feel in ways that the city does not leave capacity for. It was that dwelling that supported the creation of Intuitive Return, a series of large format self-portraits, and the understanding that home is where we choose to allow it.