Seeing from the heart of a child
opens old minds to the infinite wild
nature's unfurling destiny
from a cradle of domesticity
There was a spark of recognition as a character revealed itself to me within the creases of the clay. Something of the spirit of my grandmother felt present. Sweet in nature, forever youthful, singing somewhere over the rainbow.
She sits in her oak rocking chair on my bedside table under the canopy of my Merfolk lampshade.
A burgeoning prayer for peace from a seed held within nut, within husk, within my hand, made by my hand.
