It's a sunny Saturday afternoon in beautiful Philadelphia. My wife Sara is off having a "girly day with her ladies," and I'm left to wander the streets with my camera. Works for me. I find myself aimlessly meandering through Rittenhouse Square Park and noticing that, like in any city, there are so many interesting individuals gathered here. I spot this one elderly woman sitting alone on a park bench, seemingly deep in thoughts about the meaning of life.  The warm sunlight is kissing her back and making the top of her ivory locks glow. Her face is fixed in a sad pensive expression.  I know that I have to take her picture, and I start snapping images from a short-ish distance away. After a few frames she ever so slightly turns her head and looks straight down the barrel of my camera and into my soul. I was caught. It was in that moment as I pressed the shutter button, while this stranger looked into my lens, that a series was born. (I've ever so cleverly dubbed it, "Strangers In The Park.")