Hail

A large low limb had been cut from a tree at the edge of a park in Salt Lake City, Utah. The pattern of rings in the cut caught the eye of someone. That person told someone else, and soon, a small shrine had sprung up at the base of the tree. A set of wooden stairs with a platform was built to allow easier viewing of the pattern.
Walking up that short staircase, you would pass dozens of prayer candles and bouquets of flowers, all renewed weekly, if not daily. At the top of stairs, you would have a clear and close-up view of the pattern. I don't know what you would see there.
What I saw, was a shape formed by the rings in the wood that could be interpreted as feminine. It could have been a feminine figure with a shaded hint of a cowl over her head. It could have been the Virgin Mary, as all of the candle lighters and bouquet refreshers said it was.

I have heard that the most important word in your language is your own name. When I am in a public place and amidst other people, I often hear my name, and things pertaining to my life, spoken of by people that turn out to be strangers. I hear what I want to hear sometimes.

In an underpass on the north side of Chicago, a stain formed from dripping water, on what looks to be a patched portion of the concrete wall. The stain contained a pattern that somebody recognized, and word of it spread. Now there are prayer candles and fresh bouquets of flowers. A ceramic statue of Jesus rests beneath the stain; the head is broken off, but a drawing of Jesus rests in the hole.
Again, the pattern is reminiscently feminine; the shape of a cowl could be suggested, and one eye seems to have white flecks around the iris.
It could be the Virgin Mary.
It could be a stain on a wall.
I don't really know what it is, but I do know that I'll never be able to see it the same way anyone else does.