I didn’t set out looking for the Camargue horses. In fact, I was chasing a completely different story. It started with a song. A friend of mine, Jonathon Byrd, wrote a song called Wild Ponies. It stuck with me in a way I couldn’t shake—something about it felt honest, raw, and quietly powerful. It became my favorite of his. So I asked him about it. Where did it come from? What did it mean? His answer wasn’t just a story—it was an invitation. He told me about the wild horses of the Outer Banks and invited me to come photograph the very horses that inspired the song. That should have been the beginning of a straightforward journey: North Carolina coast, salt air, and wild ponies running along the dunes. But curiosity has a way of opening unexpected doors. As I started researching the Outer Banks horses, I kept circling back to another place entirely—southern France. The Camargue. A landscape of marshes, sea, wind, and light. And in it, these ancient white horses, moving through water like something out of a dream.

I didn’t plan to go there. Not at first, but something about them pulled at me. What began as a detour became a calling. I’ve now been to the Camargue five times, and somehow, I still haven’t made it to the Outer Banks.

There’s something hard to explain about standing in the presence of those horses. Photos don’t quite capture it. Words barely get close. It’s not just what they look like—it’s what they feel like. The way they move through the marshes, quiet and powerful, completely at home in a landscape that feels both wild and sacred.

The first time I saw them, it didn’t feel like I was observing wildlife. It felt like I had stepped into something older than memory. Like time slowed down just enough for me to notice it. There’s a stillness there, even when they’re moving, an unspoken connection between land, water, and life.

Being among them felt spiritual—not in a loud or dramatic way, but in a quiet, grounding sense. The kind that makes you more aware of your place in the world. The kind that stays with you long after you’ve left.

I went looking for one story. I found another.

And I’m still following it.