There are moments in the wild that stay with you long after the camera is packed away. This was one of them. The photograph was taken on the Laikipia Plateau in central Kenya, a vast and rugged landscape that stretches from the slopes of Mount Kenya to the edge of the Great Rift Valley. It is a place where the land feels endless, a mix of thick bush and open ridges, and where every rustle or call feels close and alive.

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At fourteen months, Kinyo was already spending most of his time alone, though he still met up with his mother from time to time, as if it was hard to let go completely. When we found him, he was calling for her, his voice low and steady in the still air. From somewhere in the bush she answered. Moments later she appeared, almost out of nowhere, moving quietly through the vegetation. Their reunion was brief but powerful, filled with sound, movement, and unmistakable affection. Then, as quickly as she had come, she slipped away unnoticed, as if to remind him that his time by her side was coming to an end.

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He searched for her in vain, calling occasionally as he moved through the bush. For a while he lingered in the cover of the trees, calm but watchful in the fading light. The air was still and heavy with that quiet that falls just before night, when the land seems to hold its breath.

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Bound Yet Apart speaks to that space between closeness and separation, strength and vulnerability. It reminds me that every journey, in both our professional world and our private one, begins with a step away from comfort and a look toward the unknown.