My friend Jared occasionally surprises me with a small painting. This one I received as a Mother’s Day card. I believe he used acrylic paint. My iPhone photo does not do it justice.
Daydreaming with Jared’s art work is one of my favorite pastimes. Here is my story:
I was 6 years old the first time I visited the cottage. My brother was 3.
The road dead ended at the bridge to the cottage. Dad, mom and sis had to carry all our stuff over the bridge and up a winding path. I was given the responsibility of making sure Sammy didn’t fall into the stream.
We were real city kids, used to the sound of traffic and lots of people. The small stream that flowed under the bridge sounded like a huge river in that quiet place.
True dare devils Sammy and I would hang over the edge of the bridge, challenging ourselves to not fall as we dropped wild flowers into that raging torrent to appease imaginary ghosts. The ghosts would be lured away from the cottage, following the flowers down the stream until they reached the ocean where they could not find their way back.