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  • Although I find this a peaceful image, I also like the inherent conflicting messages within.

    There’s a sense of solitude and isolation, even as the presence of the church connotes community.

    I feel how very small we individually - and even collectively - are in the larger context of nature and, ineluctably, even greater forces.

    The island church is dwarfed, surrounded by the encroaching forest, and, if you look carefully, about to be overtaken by the looming fog bank, just visible but closing fast.

    The church, and all it represents, seems almost insignificant, like a chip of wood, floating along on the swell of a wave, pushed by ever-changing winds.

    Metaphor abounds.

    In the end, however, this all speaks to me of the need for’s blood.

    And the faith to which I refer has nothing to do with “religion,” per se.

    The practical Yankees who built the churches along the northeast coast often put a cod weathervane at the top of the steeple. The cod was an elemental staple that sustained lives for centuries here.

    In cod we trust.

    Faith meets pragmatism. Not a bad combination.
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