All the Branches Heavy with Snow
The landscape is a color study: cerulean blue, burnt umber, Perylene green with thin lavender washes over the white of the paper.
Snow heavy on a sagging wash line. White snow geese against gray clouds, flashing like banners hung up against the sky.
I crave a return to a simple life, where the only ambition is an avocation of my own value. My experiences, my strength. An inherent, unquestionable ownership of myself and my right to exist, as I am, in all my complexities.
The gears of my life grind toward a new season. The hard times, the hospitalization burned away everything unessential. That was the gift in the pain: A new clarity of vision. When life was so excruciating that death seemed preferable to the present moment, the gifts of my life gleamed like precious stones: my love for my children. My love for my family. The potential for kindness. When everything was taken from me, that was my prayer: Please God, let me be a good mom, and let me be kind. And now I want to make a home in that simplicity. All else is unsustainable.
I’ve tried to layer the other things back on again, to reassure myself that life hasn’t changed all that much, since the hard time, but it has. I have a new home now.
Image: Handmade paper by Lorrie McClanahan. Used under a Creative Commons license.