AT THE CHURCH O’ THE ISLAND, through a gauzy porch screen, one ponders the strange beauty of a (mostly) dead jackpine. It still looks over the lake as it has for decades, an icon of the North. Like all such trees, it speaks of hardiness and fortitude, of perseverance, of belonging to and growing from the place you are planted. Of a certain spirit all things share. And of other things only a tree can say. Even in decline and death, it speaks of life. A sculpture, and a testament. From the island, Good Sabbath.