When I reflect on the eight year course of my mom’s illness, I see the slow and gradual toll dementia takes on people and families. But if I pause a moment to look at the world around me, I realize that the whole landscape is subject to slow and gradual change. Fall is a good time for contemplation.
I offer these images as a visual report on the environment where I live. The water featured in these photos is Lake Frances, which lies in the middle of Nescopeck State Park. It’s not a very big lake, and the park itself is much smaller than some other state parks near my house. But the lake has some kind of allure that makes me want to photograph it. Perhaps it’s that little island in the middle. Every time I see the island, I wonder how that tree got there. Was the island part of the shore before the lake filled in after some flood? How long has that tree been growing there, surrounded by water?
Life is so full of mysterious happenings. These questions are the ones that make me curious and engaged, even as my mom’s illness keeps me worried and often sad. Why does Mom still laugh so much when she can barely speak? How can she eat so much, move so little, and never gain a pound?
Like the changing of the leaves, these things can probably be explained by science. But science doesn’t interest me right now. On days like this, I am more intrigued by the mysteries of life itself.