Because I couldn’t find my house keys I was forced to look at trees. The desperate search for my keys made me late for one church service or very early for another. I opted for waiting in the parking lot of the latter house of worship where the stark, naked branches against a gray winter sky reminded me of my departed husband.


My husband was an art professor and an artist. His early works were often of black leafless trees against pale skies. Sketching these natural images provided him with food for his thoughts and his imagination. To my husband, the ever upward longing of the bare branches were suppliants toward heaven. His drawings of them were his prayers.


I sat in my car and remembered the man with whom I’d shared so much hoping that his “prayers” were answered.



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