idThe seed! So tiny, yet wordlessly owning a conviction of the legitimacy of its authority.Me! I am walking on the rim of a cyclone. Ocean waves are higher than my feet. How? If the earth tilts now we will own a new coastline. Winds are pushing my clothes into every crevice of my body as the material attempts to flirt with the skin of my sacred places. The willy-wagtail, on the sand at my feet, tries to fly. A valiant thing, tossed and twitched on the edge of the wind.The child outgrows the drawer and begins to absorb the sounds of the planet. The groan of old timber floors;rhythms of familiar footsteps along the hall; sounds escaping from
Um...humm...
maybe Frieda Kahlo? but your aunt's face is more delicate.
Who knows.
This is beautiful work though, dear.
Beautiful work.
welcome