This painting is the result of a dream. Every once in a while I have a dream where I fly here and there. In this dream as I was flying, I noticed a pond below. It was the pond near a farm that I recall from when I was a boy. I swooped down for a closer look and recognized it as the pond where my oldest brother, about 19-20 y/o, showed my next oldest brother, about 12-13 y/o, how to shoot a 12 gauge shotgun. I was about 9-10 y/o. As I came closer to the pond, I noticed my brother's footprints and two spent red shotgun shells. When I woke up, I remembered more of the memory at the pond. It was called a pump back pond or something similar. When the cotton field was irrigated, the water that accumulated at the end of the field was either pumped or siphoned into the pond. The pond was almost always full during the cotton season. The water was greenish, blackish, because of some slime that grew in the warm water under the hot sun. The water was then used to water either another crop or used again when the cotton field was irrigated again. Both of my brothers are dead now, gone forever,  and I never really got to know them nor they me. Superficially yes, but that is about it. Anyway, the dream made me think of how we all leave footprints after we die in the memories of those who are still alive that knew us to some degree. When they too die, we who died before are forgotten once and for all. Of course, if an individual makes the history books they are remembered for what they did be it good or evil. Children in history class learn about the historical individual, memorize facts to pass tests, while others study the individual as part of their graduate degree in fields such as History, Geography, Political Science, etc.  I wondered how many there are that have died who did not make the history books and are no longer remembered by anyone, having left no lasting footprints.