An artist, a painter, seeker + meditator, photographer, fair-weather gardener, writer + poet, grape grower, grandmother, sky-watcher and English rose lover.
My head and heart dwell both in the earth and the sky.
Always buried in color-filled palettes of paint.
My mind a magic space long before I tread this rocky road.
Always a healing place if willing to turn over stones, gathering up gifts of fallen feathers and bones.
I am and am not. I do but don’t. I always will.
I know no other way to be in my world nor would I change many things…
Perhaps I could dabble in gray clay.
Once on the beach with crones, I massaged the cold hard lump.
I learned much and very little.
So often the way.
I made a skull with a hole I slowly carved from one side to other.
Organic, my mark-making held meanings, polished with stones.
Now vanished along my wandering way.
Gone into the earth again.
Color is my muse, my only power and deepest well filled with healing.
I have learned one thing … No thing ever stays the same.
Another belief of mine:
That everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.