crossing the night lake
11" x 14" / acrylic on canvas / $225
Crossing the Night Lake
I am fortunate to have grown up in a place that offered solace, mystery, wonder and adventure by the very nature of its landscape and terrain. I had no idea while I was growing up how deeply I was being influenced by the natural world that surrounded me. The beauty of the lake, the calming effect of the woods, the changing of the seasons, and the subsequent shift in the colors and smells permeated my soul, and have remained embedded in my mind and being. That land is a part of me, and I am a part of it. There is a connection that can never be severed.
On the night after my mother’s death. I stood on the top of the hill overlooking that same lake. The inky depth of the night which covered all that it touched stretched across the distance to the shore on the other side. I thought of my mother and how her soul was crossing a great body of water in search of the shore on the other side. My tears were being added to that mythical river which was carrying her home. I watched the lights on that distant shore twinkle, their brilliance cutting through the darkness of the night. I thought about how my father and others who had loved my mother would be standing on the shore of her crossing, shining their own lights to guide her.
In that moment, when the inky darkness was deepest, it was the land that held me. She was the literal and figurative ground beneath my feet, reaching up and holding her daughter while I sang my own mother home.
On the night after my mother’s death. I stood on the top of the hill overlooking that same lake. The inky depth of the night which covered all that it touched stretched across the distance to the shore on the other side. I thought of my mother and how her soul was crossing a great body of water in search of the shore on the other side. My tears were being added to that mythical river which was carrying her home. I watched the lights on that distant shore twinkle, their brilliance cutting through the darkness of the night. I thought about how my father and others who had loved my mother would be standing on the shore of her crossing, shining their own lights to guide her.
In that moment, when the inky darkness was deepest, it was the land that held me. She was the literal and figurative ground beneath my feet, reaching up and holding her daughter while I sang my own mother home.
