And what you make of your life depends on your lens, finding that wide angle, looking through the camera symbolically. I sit in my garden. I sit here in my garden in the spring, like today, and in the summer and fall, but also in the winter when it's all gray and brown. My monks think I am crazy. My monks ask me what possible pleasure I get from sitting in the garden in January. They see only dead sticks and still earth, but I see flowers and trees in bloom. I see the Resurrection.

Mary Swander, The Desert Pilgrim