Last night I was walking Chico along the creek, taking our customary stroll through the neighborhood before retiring. The rising tide and flowing creek had fought each other to a perfect draw, and the water was neither flooding or ebbing; combined with the almost still air and the late hour - I took this picture at 11 PM, you have to love the Alaskan summers - it was as if the whole island was holding its breath.
I'm rather fond of the bottom image, where I took the top image, cropped it, then flipped it upside down. The water has become the land and the ripples make it look like the church is being viewed through ancient glass like you find in old Victorian houses or perhaps through the fogged lens of a fading memory. The picture has a story to tell but what is the title? "Reflections on Faith" perhaps? Walking along an isthmus of land, what many believe to be the oldest continuously inhabited coastal community in North America, it is easy to reflect on all that has come before, and all that will come after we are gone. What do you think of when you view this scene? Click on it, blow it up, and think for a second. (Besides "Steve, why didn't you bend that blade of grass out of the way before you took the picture??")