The Water Lily has always carried a quiet sort of magic, the kind that floats rather than announces itself, unfurling its pale petals on still water as if the world were made just for its reflection. I grew up watching them on Beaver Lake… those early mornings when the mist hung low and the lilies opened slowly, like they were waking up with the rest of us. They were small, perfect miracles drifting just out of reach, teaching me that beauty didn’t need to be chased; sometimes it simply waited. Even now, a single water lily can summon that whole world back, the hush of the shoreline, the soft lap of water against the dock, the feeling that summer might last forever. A bloom that doesn’t demand attention, yet holds the entire memory of a place in its open palm.
The Water Lily has always carried a quiet sort of magic, the kind that floats rather than announces itself, unfurling its pale petals on still water as if the world were made just for its reflection. I grew up watching them on Beaver Lake… those early mornings when the mist hung low and the lilies opened slowly, like they were waking up with the rest of us. They were small, perfect miracles drifting just out of reach, teaching me that beauty didn’t need to be chased; sometimes it simply waited. Even now, a single water lily can summon that whole world back, the hush of the shoreline, the soft lap of water against the dock, the feeling that summer might last forever. A bloom that doesn’t demand attention, yet holds the entire memory of a place in its open palm.
9.5” x 15.75”
Custom framing available upon request, please inquire.
