Every February, the rising sun reflects off the cross in the picture at the correct angle so that its light hits my front yard (where I took this photo yesterday morning). On a sunny morning, the glimmer is lost in the morning glare. However, on a morning with low fog (such that the cross is in the sun), the reflection is the only light penetrating the fog. I first noticed this reflection two or three years ago on a foggier day when I couldn't discern the shape of the cross. My first impression on seeing it then was "Darn it! Someone added another overly bright, un-aimed light blazing into the sky." But I soon noticed it wasn't an obtrusive light, rather, a reflection seen at the right time and place, that will dissipate in minutes, and not return for a year. Yesterday was the first time since then that the angle of the sun, quality of cloud cover, and my being present, have all been aligned.
I don't share this for religious reasons, though the subject is more meaningful to many because of it's religious symbolism. Rather, I share this to celebrate understatement and subtlety when creating monuments. I enjoy a unique and rare view of anything, regardless of it's content, over the obtrusive seen-from-everywhere and at-any-time features that some institutions and cities put up.
jg
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