An elegiac memory dedicated to our mother Mary

I rest in the swing of the small pergola that overlooks the lake where Gilead exists. This refuge for my little sister Sylvia is filled with beauty as only God can produce! The early evening's light casts images of that beauty onto the lake’s water.  The surrounding trees pulsate across the windswept water. The imperfect reality of nature is camouflaged by the shimmering surface of the lake.

In the quietness of this moment I looked back into time and see our mother. She was a rare adult/child who carried the pain of adulthood covered with the playfulness of a child.  She, like the lake, could pass from the heat of the sweltering day into the shimmer of childhood.  In her dependence on others for help to provide for her children, she performed illusions much like a magician.

She could take the simplest objects and turn them into the wonders of the world. Her magic was as dazzling and elusive as the trees that I now see in Gilead’s reflective surface! Only the bright sun of another day can reveal the reality of those wonders.  Even though the reality of Gilead’s illusions shall pass into the light of day, our Mother’s magic touch, as the reflections on the lake, bring peace to my aging soul! 
David Allan Britt