In search of reflections

Internet access here is through a 'stick', one of those devices that uses satellite or cell phone towers or some such technology to access the invisible web of connectivity out there in cyberspace. It is slow. Cumbersome and thus, I only come to visit in the morning to write and post my blog. The slowness of access makes it difficult to read and post to others -- I am missing my cyber-friends' words and images and presence on my journey -- I shall be back but not until next weekend. For now, I shall post once a day and leave the reading and commenting until I'm home.

Yesterday, Ursula and I went in search of reflections. About to begin our part in the preparations for last night's Thanksgiving feast, we looked at the sun on the water and decided -- cooking can wait. The reflections couldn't.

We set out around the lake in search of beauty, which really doesn't require much of a search because it is everywhere. From golden hues to russet and gold to brilliant red, the trees are ablaze in fall's fiery hues.

But what we wanted were the colours reflecting off the water. The mirrored surfaces of fall glory all around.

I drove. Ursula navigated.

"There!" she yelled and pointed to an inlet where the water lay still as glass and the trees lay upon their surface. The world in 2-D. Hillside reflected on lake.

We stopped and took a photo. Or two. Or three.

Back in the car. On down the road we drove.

"There!" she yelled again, not two minutes from where we had first stopped. Laughing we pulled over. Leapt out of the vehicle. Trudged down a slope, slipping and sliding through crunchy leaves and fading grasses.

More photos. More laughter intermingled with sighs of contentment for the beauty all around.

Ursula is my 'painting buddy'. It was she who first awoke in me the desire to paint. A lifelong artist she would always challenge me to join her in throwing paint on canvas to create a work of wonder.

"No. No." I'd declare each time she'd insist there was an artist lurking within me. "I'm a writer. Not a painter. I leave the spreading colour on canvas to those who can."

"But you can!" she'd insist and I would demur.

And then, when Alexis (my eldest daughter) was 10 or 12, she invited Alexis to paint with her and the two spent delightful hours immersed in colour and paint and canvas.

And I'd continue with my insistence, I'm a writer, not a painter.

Until one day, when Alexis was about 14 she asked if we could go and buy her some canvases. Off to the art store we traipsed, laughing and giggling as we explored the many options available.
When we returned home and set up her painting corner in the kitchen, out of the blue I said, "I think I'll paint with you."

Ursula still likes to remind me that she was right. I was wrong.

There was an artist within waiting to be released.

That was several years ago. Since that time, Ursula and I have shared many painting classes together and many hours communing together over canvas and colour, texture and tone. The difference in our 'style' is evident. A realist, Ursula likes to represent the world in all its beauty through reflecting the depth and glory of what she sees as she sees it.

Me, I'm abstract. I love to throw paint and texture and medium together to see what I can create that reflects the beauty I feel within looking out.

And for both of us, it is the reflection of love and life and laughter and joy and glory of this world we cast upon a canvas, rejoicing in the art of creating for no other reason than we can.

We went in search of reflections yesterday and found the beauty of our spirits reflected in the world around us.

It was Divine.

And then, we cooked and prepared and joined with Ursula and Andrew's friends and family to give thanks for this world we live in.

I can't post any photos but it was glorious!

Hope your's was too.

Namaste.