Hanging

We finally got the stuff cleared out of the hall so we could hang the painting that goes there. It's my favorite of everything my mother has done -- rich in blues and greens and purples and silver, which are my colours, which are her colours. Abstract and evocative, the pointed arch of the church door, the clear blue sky, light through the branches of the trees like light through the stained glass of the wheeling circular windows of the cathedral. Leaves fall.

I've closed the door to the Pink Room so the reflected sunlight doesn't change its colour palette, and I sit and watch the painting as the sun comes and goes, sometimes clear in its full intricacy, sometimes so lost in shadow that the only thing visible is the light blue through the church door.

She finished that painting the night before her own mother's funeral, so rich with depth and meaning and the echoes of generations.

It is so beautiful.