The evening blue of the sky sifts down into yellow, then deepens into a hazy peach at the horizon. A few whispers of cloud hover over Mount Susitna, our Sleeping Lady, and there are clouds heaped up in billows over the far ranges, golden light spilling out behind them, every shade of peach and gold and lavender lovelier than the one before it.
Naomi falls asleep on my chest and Eleanor is still buzzing around the room, busy as a bee, full of energy from her too-late nap. I do a rough sketch of the mountain and lakes with a purple watercolour pencil, Eleanor bumping in and out to watch and exclaim, and I realize how much as a child I used to enjoy drawing; and then I remember the day my enjoyment in it died. Perhaps as I learn to forgive one person, I'll learn how to forgive everyone that has ever hurt me; perhaps I can also see more clearly how much I myself have been Forgiven.
It's eleven o'clock, and as I dip a tiny paintbrush into a silver cup of water and brush it over the sketch, there is an elation and happiness in my soul, and a hope both wistful and sure.
And seek the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be carried away captives, and
pray unto the LORD for it: for in the
peace thereof shall ye have peace.
Jerimiah 29.7
