One late summer afternoon at Grandfather lake, the sky seemed to be literally on fire, reminding me of T.S. Eliot’s lines:
“The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
“There appeared to them tongues like flames of fire.” Acts 2:3
Watercolor • October 2019