Seems I killed them with kindness--over-watered and over-fed. There's a lesson in there, I just know it, but I'm not going to pursue it today. I'm going on a cruise next week. Waste not, want not.
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I was in Maine one September, visiting son Doug who was on location working on a movie. He had rented a cottage on a pond (that's Maine talk for a lake) and asked me to visit. "You'll love it, Mom," he said. He was right, I did.
I had lived on the shore of Lake Wissota in Wisconsin while growing up.
I often envied my city friends being able to visit each other whenever they wanted, but the quiet of the country was right for me. There were three Lombardy Poplars at the edge of our lot my father called the 'old maids.' I would lie out on a summer night and listen to them whisper to one another, secrets I would never fathom.
The bedroom I shared with my sister had a dormer window that looked out over the lake. Daddy had built a window seat there and Mother had made a pretty cushion for it. I spent hours reading and dreaming there.
One summer night, I woke and went to sit in the alcove. The moon over the lake was full and cut a shining path across the dancing waves. I stared in wonder. And then I saw them, a pair of loons swinning across that silver band of water, their sad call cutting through the night air. I felt a chill rise in my back. This was a scene I would never forget and I knew it. I sat quietly for a long time to honor the moment and the loons.
Those days in Maine brought back memories of living on Lake Wissota. Made me look more carefully at the "movie" I'm making called "My Life." It consists of billions of moments, magical and full of wonder.
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