There is a waterfall in every dream. Cool and crystal clear, it falls gently on the sleeper, cleansing the mind and soothing the soul.
A tour of Michigan would be incomplete without pausing along the way to listen to the music of waterfalls, from a gentle stream near my home to the crescendo of a roaring river in the forest primeval of the Upper Peninsula.
A sentiment that comes to mind as winter lingers, with the expectation of spring waiting beyond the horizon. The same might apply to politics and culture in the United States, dominated as it is by antagonism. For now, patience in tribulation more closely fits our predicament.
For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life – the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value.
“A lake is a landscape’s most expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”
—Henry David Thoreau
In Michigan, we have the added pleasure of watching the lakes and their environs change through the seasons. Lush green is followed by amber and red, which is succeeded by icy blues and whites. Each has its own charms and memories. As a bonus, this particular lake is nestled in suburban Detroit.
The brook whispering as it slid past the ice on the banks was the solitary sound in the woods, but I imagined it carried a voice–her voice–from winters past, but not forgotten. Before I quite caught it, the memory slipped away, as the sparkling water disappeared around the bend. Yet, the sky shone with an intense blue and hope returns with the approaching Spring.