At what point does a life turn into absolute rubbish? What is the cycle that governs all living and man-made things? Looking at the Christmas trees discarded along the streets and alleyways, I wonder about the process of objects of desire that turn from preciousness into worthlessness. At one time, for a short period of time, the abandoned trees, were decorated and given prominent position in many homes.

We all exist in the interim, between life and death, adoration and abandonment, usefulness and uselessness. I come along and find beauty in the rejected and instill them with new identity and life. Their lives start all over again, but never in the same way. Their rebirths aren't necessarily pretty or hopeful. Often, we don't choose what we become.

Recently on my nightly walks, I've noticed lights from windows. They remind me that I am not the only one who enjoys staying up late. They are a welcomed sight in the dark, sometimes, I even spot a warm body moving about. What is my fascination with lit windows in the dark? Am I a voyeur? Do I long for connection? Looking in, I see a glimpse of the occupants' lives. In the still darkness, I let my mind wander.