As the water leaves my cup, I have a brainstorm.

I promised my brother Tall Timbers.

Looking into his eyes, I wonder, “Is this the Jesus I know?”

On this cool October morning, nature is closing up shop.

It’s hard to make a bridge to strangers. 

The waves have become liquid silver.

As I step into the sea breeze, I wonder if this would be God’s chosen smell.

How many years have I celebrated this vista without stopping to capture it?

This image, in all its mundanity, is just what I am looking for.

Protruding from a brick wall, the giant, golden hand beckons me.

The secret gardens are always the best ones.

The wind is howling outside of my Iceland hotel room.