I am in Indiana this week. While here a buddy of mine from back home sent me a picture of an owl that appeared to be looking right at him. My buddy thinks this is a short-eared owl (I don’t know; my bird book is at home). All I know is that he’s arrestingly beautiful and somewhat menacing, too. He just looks indomitable. I had to include the picture.

Second is a picture I took this morning as the fog blanketed the endless cornfields of Indiana. I never tire of pastoral scenes. They speak to me in ways that remain deeply mysterious and inescapable for me.

The story is that there actually is a story, and every story has an author. A tale is being told because there’s a coherent narrative.