It’s not much of a photo, but with some enlarging, and a little digital enhancement to pierce the shadows, you can just begin to see that there’s an Owl in the dead tree.

A familiar of the Goddess, the Owl inhabits the empty core, like a beating heart in the hollow of Death. And you wouldn’t even know it was there.
But Life is ever found in Death, and Death in Life; they are the same thing, or at least we have not one without the other. The dead tree teaches this, breeding life through its decay; fodder for fungus; home to Owls.

Love hunts us like an Owl:
Hidden but observant
Sudden and silent
Flying through darkness
Finding its mark

Even if they cut down every tree in the Park, we would just have to start over, with one big meadow, and a lot of sparrows.
And if it burns, we will plant in the ashes.

In the barrens of this World, Love will yet have a roost in the hollows of the Heart.
That is my promise; my Lenten Valentine.