The Celtic Monk

I pulled my car out of the garage, heading first towards the end of the block and ultimately to I-75. As I came to the end of our street, I looked east down a deserted 8th Avenue which runs alongside a nearly empty canal from which there was enough moisture for steam to be rising in pleasant curly wafts. I had an unobstructed view the mile or so before 8th dead-ends into Hendry County when I caught my first look at the sun, bigger than the geodome at Epcot and more intensely coral than the ripest apricot, rising ever so slowly. As you know from earlier posts, gazing at natural phenomena is something I do with some regularity. It's as though God call's out my name in these images. "Come look Kathleen, see what I made for you this morning!" The sun was low enough on the horizon and filtered through enough of the atmosphere that the perimeter was sharply defined against the sky. It had not yet cleared the ground...so the bottom edge appeared as though it might

It was last fall that I finally answered an invitation on Facebook... the social networking website, to play Farmville... a social networking game. How fun I thought, that rather than playing solitaire or mahjong by myself, I would play Farmville and be able to catch up with friends at the same time. What could be better? I was brand new to the world wide web of all things electronically social and it appeared to be a simplest of avenues to keep in the loop. I’d have a small interaction with friends and acquaintances from miles away as I decompressed from my day. What better way to spend 10 minutes than with that 6” x 6” plot of flat screen soil while sending and receiving trees, chickens, fences and lambs with friends. It even felt familiar, this sensation of a momentary connection. I remembered that when Sean was two and just getting his own little sense of self he practiced a ritual of comfort as he took those first steps of independence. He would make a foray into another room,