Today is the second Sunday in Lent. I first thought the tree, as it stood in the middle of an art community, was just a handy way to showcase one's creations. But I began to wonder if it wasn't some kind of a shrine or a wishing tree of crosses or a collection of talismans to ward off evil. I don't understand garish crosses. My last church had a large wooden cross suspended over the pulpit. It was a bit unnerving at first to stand there and deliver my sermon with the possibility that the cross could fall on me. I felt warned to be careful what I said. I hope that I was honest and truthful and transparent and not too careful.

A hot day, the ice cream treat finished, with opportunity to relax and visit with friends. This man's hand demonstrates a life of hard work. I suspect his handshake is strong, with calloused palm and thick fingers. I recall lots of people who had hands like these with fingernails that would never quite get clean. No pretense here. Funny how we are often more concerned about the dirt outside than the dirt inside.

This spoke to me because of the men I know who have hands just like this, and how often I notice and have to clean my own dirty fingernails.

By the way, this detail is a crop from a much larger image:

I shot this photo at the Park of Palms in downtown Fort Myers. I was caught by the lines and shadows of this leaf. I like the transition in tone from one side of the image to the other. Apparently the cabbage palm, not this one, is the only palm native to Florida. All of the others have been brought there and planted. All those snowbirds aren't the only non-native Floridians.

It has been a hard winter, even here in Nashville, and the deer who live in the woods around us are hungry. If you've been to our house, you know we live in the city, but also in the country. We see deer behind our house frequently. And now they have found our shrubs. So I hope spring comes quickly. Reminds me of one winter in Springfield where the rabbits were hungry. The snow was deep and my mother said the rabbits were everywhere and eating her shrubs. The next door neighbor and I both had live traps. We caught nearly 30 rabbits in a very short time. I don't know what the neighbor did with his prisoners, but I released mine---On the other side of the interstate, several miles away, next to the Baptist Church. I guess I was hoping they would be baptized by immersion. However, I think they multiplied even down there and were sent back as missionaries to the neighborhood. I found these 6 young evangelists in a hollowed out spot in my mother's yard, being quiet and still so as not to attract attention. But the deer are attracting my attention. Now I'm wondering if I shouldn't try relocating the deer to the Baptist Church, although I don't want them to be sent back... I suspect they would tell me, if they could, that they were here first. And I'm the critter in their yard.

The door is locked, has been for years. Everything inside is just the way it was when the owner locked the door for the last time. Time stopped. I peered in the window, and noticed all of the stacked papers, the decade-old calendar, the faded note from a child, the straw in the pop can, the old high school photo (was it his wife?), and all kinds of assorted keys hanging on hooks that opened a lock somewhere. It looks like there were all kinds of things that were unfinished when time stopped. If those things were important before time stopped, it appears they aren't important now. Many tasks steal our time. So on my list of unfinished tasks, which ones are truly important?

I suspect that you, like me, have seen some of the amazing photographs posted by storm-chasers. I've learned that storms can provide stunning photographic opportunities. This first photo is along the Oregon coast during obviously heavy surf conditions. The second photo is the aftermath of a spring storm on the Illinois prairie. I recall going outside years ago to see if I could watch a tornado pass over (I know, dumb). Storms fascinate us--- when we can watch from a distance, that is; storms in our lives, not so much. We can do without the turmoil and the drama, the pain and the regrets. We are not even interested in naming the storms that have crashed upon us. What we do want is a safe place. Or someone who knows where we are and will come look for us. And help put our lives back together.

During the winter months, you can see this scene out our kitchen window. It's only visible from the perspective of that window, and only during the winter. Judy claims there is an outline of a face there, and she begins to point out the features. It's an iconic representation of the Christ, she says. Really, I say, I'm not so sure. Well, just look. He's right there. Can't you see him? Now it's not quite in the genre of a weeping Madonna on a brick wall, or the crucifix in a potato chip. Don't make fun. For her, it's even a meditative sight. It's there if you look. Stand back, and squint. What do you see?

 I sort of see a face. But it could be anybody. It could be Christ. It could be anybody.

Yes, isn't that the point?

In January, we took a side trip through Fayetteville on our way to Huntsville, Alabama. Or one could say, it was sort of on the way, depends how you get there. As we drove the selected route, I couldn't help but notice the building with the painted bricks, and made a quick U-turn. I was caught by the green doors, the faded paint, the shadows of the overhead wires, and even the wooden bench. 

Apparently, the sign has gone through several variations over the years, with any distinction between the letter styles blurred by history. I suspect the previous sign was painted over with a new sign on top, and maybe even a third variation. I can't tell which because they have all faded together.

Portions of my past have faded as well. It  is just as well that some of it has faded, erased, mercifully forgiven. Thank God for grace.