Wood between the Worlds

     My dad began painting a few years ago and has since gifted us with his handiwork. About a year ago, he gave me the choice of a few others he had on hand and I immediately knew which one I wanted. This one.
     When I was growing up, in the providence of our Maker, I lived in a small 3 bedroom home situated  at the edge of our town. And next to that home were acres and acres of meadows, wooded areas, creeks, streams, and even a wild strawberry patch. There was one place that stood out and to this day still does, and this painting reminds me of that spot. It was still, quiet, peaceful, and green with life. A place, as the narrator in The Magician's Nephew described, where "The trees grew close together and were so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky. All the light was green light that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the quietest wood you could possibly imagine. ...This wood was very much alive. ...'It was a rich place...'"