The snow, fallen; the evening activity, canceled.  What now?  A camera, warm clothes, and the forest beneath a full moon yet half-concealed by swift wisps of cloud.

He walks, pausing occasionally.  A dog barks down the street, children play in the cul-de-sac around the bend.  But the forest is quiet.  He sees the tracks - a fox walked past some time ago.  A rabbit bounded through the yard.  Deer trotted off to a place of warmth.  But now, amidst the trees, only silence.

He walks past the stream and up the embankment to the railroad tracks, to the bridge he has been to countless times.  Sets up the tripod and camera, takes a photo, adjusts, another photo, adjusts again until satisfaction hits, the camera is placed elsewhere, and the process begins again.

Each image, thirty seconds of light waves hitting an electronic sensor, recorded to memory.  Thirty seconds to think - what's next?  Where is he heading?  An impossibility becomes possible with unforeseen suddenness.  Habits, expectations, processes change and mold to a new 40-hour workweek life.  Jesus Christ is making all things new and he can never let go of that, but his heart breaks for the brokenhearted who can't see hope and he fights the feeling -the lie- of uselessness as he wonders how he might be a part of restoration.

The shutter closes; another image appears.  Adjust, reposition, again.

Back to thoughts of change and the unknown.  Back to the house. 

The forest is quiet.