the pagoda in the valley

The humble monk walks slowly up the cinder path to the solitude of the towering pagoda.He is alone and sombre.He has much to reflect on and his hope is that the sacred relics in the place he is seeking will speak to the quiet place in his heart where peace can be found.He can hear the rushing stream,see the sun bathing the snowy mountain tops a pale pink and he rejoices in the things with which he is gifted by his senses.Already his spirit is quieting.

This painting that enchants me so, was created by my granddaughter in her second grade class.It won first place and was displayed in an art center in Dawsonville this Spring.Finally on Mother's Day, I got to see it and in a moment I will never forget,it was given to me by a small,delicate hand as a special gift.So many entities in the picture lure me, the color of the mountains,the blue, curving stream, the simple bridge,the mottled blue sky and finally the sacred space,the pagoda.

Dancing with the memory of this treasured gift is another one. After Frisbee,Chinese food, gifts and cards,she was in the middle of the room and turned and came towards me.She is slight, freckled with blonde curly hair, and now wears studious, adorable glasses that perch on her nose.She keeps a journal and paints.As she approached,in her eyes was such love;she held me there with that love as I gazed at her in deep connection.We hugged for no reason other than to celebrate we two.