A Cold Crisp Night

A Cold Crisp Night

oil on canvas (8×8)

My Dad was a farmer. Our home was in the country several miles from a small town in South Dakota. There were no streetlights, only the night sky. One moonless night, as my mother and I walked the quarter mile home from our neighbors, I could hear coyotes howling in the hills across the Belle Fourche River. The sounds of the coyotes, the crunch of the gravel beneath our feet, and the clear sky with all those stars are imprinted on my heart.  It was one of those defining moments. I had my first taste of living art, which has been, since that moment, a filter for me of just what beauty and mystery are. It is where I first learned to breathe the sky.

There is nothing quite like the night sky to make one wonder about the mysteries of our existence. And nothing which competes with revealing to us, our own limitations. My friend says standing under the sky on a cold, crisp night fills him with happiness. He also watches the Northern lights do their magnificent dance. Standing in this awe, we experience True worship. We see that the heavens declare………