A folk artist had been featured in a magazine, and some friends suggested we go find his place.

Over the years, he had expanded far beyond his own yard, buying neighboring properties until he had created an entire compound filled with his work.

At first it seemed almost overwhelming. Everywhere I looked were signs, sculptures, painted objects, gates, and fences. But the longer I wandered, the more I realized nothing had been placed by accident. Every corner felt intentional, as if each little tableau was quietly speaking to the next.

As I stood outside the gate looking back in, I found myself wondering what kind of inner compass had guided someone to create an entire world like this.

Then something caught my eye.

One word had been attached to the fence, and as the afternoon light  struck it, the shadow stretched across the pavement where I was standing.

I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in.

Now I couldn’t miss it.

Only then did I begin seeing the crosses, the prayers, and the quiet references woven throughout his work.

It wasn’t that his inspiration had suddenly appeared.

It had been there all along.

I simply hadn’t learned how to see it yet.