Often when I am in New York I read a bit of my mother's journals. I am looking for the intersection of her past with my present and her particular expression of days. Often the entries are not what I had hoped for or expected. But I feel lucky to have them to turn to as the evidence of a life lived, proof in the underlined insight and inspiration in the musical drawing. As Zoe retreated from our house this morning I took time to wander my garden and studio. I picked a garlicscape, found a vase and planted my feet in the places where I find my voice.
"A mother and daughter are an edge. Edges are ecotones, transitional zones, places of danger or opportunity. House-dwelling tension. When I stand on the edge of the land and sea, I feel this tension, this fluid line of transition. High tide. Low tide. It is the sea's reach and retreat that reminds me we have been human for only a very short time."
--Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds (p. 20)