Generations have gathered here before us. To celebrate. To relax. To say goodbye. To heal.
Before me. Before her. Before us. When she was still a dream in my heart.
The wind rustles in the trees whispering stories of yesterday. The loons sing songs of tradition and hope.
She plays along the water’s edge as the lazy morning fog climbs through the cool morning air. It lifts up off the water’s surface. Reaching for the sun. A fresh start. A new day.
She knows nothing of the ancestors whose ashes have been sprinkled in this lake. But as she touches her toes to the water for the first time the memories of the past and the vision for the future become one.