In this picture, I am lost in a maze of trees, looking for my way back to who I am supposed to be, what I am supposed to be doing. In this picture, I am going the wrong way on the road back to the Dream-time. An ancestor grandmother in a long skirt is on the road back to the Lake with the Bluest Eye, and before her is a Conestoga wagon with our ancestors of yet the more previous generation. The Lake with the Bluest Eye is at the foot of the Mountains of Memory. Today, at sunset, the Dream-time Mists have cleared for a moment, and the light of the most distant sun lights up snowfields and meadows.
Since I drew this, the sun has set, the Mists have risen from the marsh around the Lake, and I am once again alone on the Cedar Trail.