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Then came the rumor of a thorn. The agitator of all this chaos, the root of the return into old habits  and blind impulses. Name the thorn. Remove the thorn. Let hope and energy come billowing up over the mountain   like a billow of turtles, women and wildflowers.

The mechanic was one to fix things, she could make most anything GO! She could invent new ways of going. She never stopped to ask, "'where is this vehicle taking us?" "Why is it designed to go so fast?" broken? chop-chop back on the road and flying towards...... the mechanic...

still something in her strained and made her extremely agitated 

The Mapmaker sat in the temple garden. Today it didn't matter what she mapped, but rather how she mapped it. Here, with the deep temple bells, the soft green moss, the slow circling koi fish, she felt free from the exhausting desire to map it all.

The artist knew how to name unruly beasts. How to write about them. How to be consumed by them. What she needed to learn was how to imagine a life without them.

bowl #326 Fairy kisses are oh-so-very colorful

The architect went to her favorite writing spot each morning. A small desk in a treasured woods, dappled devine with scent upon scent of wood, soil, mushroom, moss, fairy.

Bowl #319  The small explorer was considering what it meant to be Kissed by Fairies and Blessed by Elves.  She realized it was an awful lot like being Hugged by Yetis. Wonderful. Warm. And Vast.    *Fun clay fact: The bowl in the photo is unfired, “green”. Once it gets...

While working on cup number 287, “Even the woodpecker must begin somewhere” harvesting the words and image onto paper, it seemed fortuitous that this was the piece I am in process with as I begin to launch my spanking new website and it is time to write my first post....