This a portion of the Granite Dells near Prescott, Arizona. When we visited the area, it was quite obvious that the water level in Watson Lake was low and had been low for some time. Revealed was some intriguing rock formations that resembled all kinds of creatures. It was a good place to wander and contemplate the wonders of the earth. Later I read that uranium is present in significant levels here. And that there is a legend that gold is buried somewhere in the formations and it has never been found. And right near the left center, is that the head of one of the seven dwarfs?

The spikes or thorns on some cacti are spaced far enough apart that one could touch them. Obviously this one is not that kind. It has abundant spikes. Reminds me of a porcupine. Or some people that are hostile to any intimacy. Just walk away.

Back in the film days (although it was still during this century), we took a vacation trip to Arizona. And as we were visiting near Prescott, there was a full moon. I looked around for a vantage point and found a shopping center that parking lot that had a clear view of Thumb Butte. I took about a dozen exposures at various settings and found this one to my liking. I scanned the slide and made a few adjustments in the digital image, not much.

I'll be posting images from that Arizona trip this week.

Psalm 139, which is a portion of today's lectionary reading, is intensely personal. The repetition of personal pronouns emphasize the surprising intimacy in which God knows each of us. And unlike this wall of gears at the St. Louis City Museum, we are uniquely known. The psalmist goes back and forth from amazement that God cares for him to the plea for examination. Nothing is hidden. All of one's life is in plain view. And not condemned. It is like knowing the worst of someone and still loving them.

And it is this stunning awareness of being loved, valued, created, that motivates one's change for goodness and gratitude. And the psalmist is amazed at the thought. As I am.

This one is a different moment from the one I posted yesterday and with a different processing approach. Just trying to learn new ways of doing different things.

I regret all the times that I thought the presence of some person was ruining my picture. This time I waited for the hiker to be in the right place, separated from the background. Without him the photo would be boring. Maybe it is now, but this man in his orange vest walking on the swinging bridge improves the picture and gives visual proportion to the waterfall. I did have to make some adjustments in the photo as the waterfall was in shadows and a bright sky was behind the hiker and bridge. And here there was also an issue of shutter speed and depth of field. A wide angle lens was used which has a greater depth of field. But I wanted to blur some of the water with a slower shutter speed but still have a short enough exposure that the figure would not be blurred. And as I share what I have done I realize that there are some other things I can still do to blur the water a little more. May have to try it.

Winter strips nature to the essentials. The structure is revealed without color. Tree and sky. It is a time of waiting. A time of truth. Pretense is not possible. The real character can be seen.

That must be why we all want to wear coats and hats and gloves.

I spent some time last night watching the Jackson Barrett auto auction. I was priced out of the opportunity to bid on classic cars pretty quickly. Then I saw 60 year old Suburbans that sold for as much as new ones. They looked new, and not old. Sixty years old and looked new.

Several conversations I have participated in this past week seem to have focused on the issues of aging. That's not how they started. Aging wasn't even the primary topic. But aging intruded on normal discussions. Sometimes it is the shadows. Other times it is out in the open. Possibly, it's because family and friends are having birthdays. Some have lots of years but don't show it. How does that happen? I guess you have to choose your parents well. Funny. Would my children have chosen me? I hope so.