I guess you had to be there. A couple Springs ago, Mother and I traveled down a rural road toward Brinkhaven, Ohio, the home of her ancestors. As she walked away from the car to check out this outcrop of sandstone and ground water - she was like my incredible- shrinking-mother! I asked her to retrace the route a few times and by gum it seemed as though I were in one of those distorted rooms you find in science museums - things were all off -kilter. Maybe her figure receding over the distance and through time made it work. But, trust me: sitting in the car with no human figure visible - this grotto seemed much smaller and you'd guess that if a person were to stand there they'd occupy a greater part of this space. I just don't think these photos captured it, but we sure had fun trying.
I guess you had to be there. A couple Springs ago, Mother and I traveled down a rural road toward Brinkhaven, Ohio, the home of her ancestors. As she walked away from the car to check out this outcrop of sandstone and ground water - she was like my incredible- shrinking-mother! I asked her to retrace the route a few times and by gum it seemed as though I were in one of those distorted rooms you find in science museums - things were all off -kilter. Maybe her figure receding over the distance and through time made it work. But, trust me: sitting in the car with no human figure visible - this grotto seemed much smaller and you'd guess that if a person were to stand there they'd occupy a greater part of this space. I just don't think these photos captured it, but we sure had fun trying.
3 comments:
I'm always astounded by moments like this, when the drama of nature suddenly becomes manifest. When we are canoeing on still water, especially on a clear autumn day, the reflections in the water are so compelling that they startle me into a whole different mindset. Illusion, and then what....reminds me of an old Buddhist saying, "Even as it is, it isn't. And soon it won't be, at all." The transitory quality of life, the impermanence of everything.
May you always see your Mother there...
Bonita, What a tender thing to say about my mother - (tears in my eyes)
I think I once shared with you the one evening I was in a canoe and the lavender and pink sliding past the prow transported me in a way I shall always remember. It was no longer water, I was no longer locked in 'me'.
Indeed, I remember, and that is the 'transport' of moving on still water. It is heavenly. It brings about an altered state of awareness.
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