I left Montreal a few years ago because I love swimming so much.  I wanted to live near a lake so badly that I left everything behind in the city to buy a tiny little cabin in the Eastern Townships, out where the Appalachian Mountains start to fade back into the earth.  So now I live in the country, but I'm scared of the dark.  And when I go swimming I can't cross the lake when I'm alone, even though I can swim the whole thing back and forth three times if there are kids on the beach.  My fear stems from what lies under the surface of the lake, of course, but also from what lies under the crust of the earth, or sometimes even just the cougar in the dark of the forest when I'm out walking after the sun goes down.  That's what I paint.  The fear, yes, but also the wonder and awe of standing at the lip of the abyss.

I wish I was as strong and fearless as a really powerful witch.  

But I'm not.  

Nevertheless, I continue to paint and swim.  

Lucky me.