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Dear Reader,

In the same way some seeds require cold stratification to germinate, I require Winter. The piercing cold. It awakens a resilience in me. A sharpness.

And I can feel it creeping-

the sun shining stronger,

dew freezing delicately atop glass.

I'm moving into a new phase. A new chapter. As Winter approaches, and my resiliency buds, this opportunity to move glows brighter. A certainty growing out of ToolBoxEarth.

The more willingly I accept that my pieces are shifting, the more comfortable I feel to share with you about the simple and slow days of a dreamer.

What stillness is for.

Someone who the world moved on without.

Someone who has never been as scared as she should be.

Below is a blurb of me.

A blurb whose pieces we read about daily from one source or another.

8 billion sources.

The blurbs amongst us.

Surrounding ToolBoxEarth is this vision of leading with our blurbs-

our therapies.

If we know,


No one is unscathed,

then maybe our pieces are


the same.

If we allow our pieces to shift,

we'll have more than pieces.

Would the fundamentals of your shift look different than mine?

If not, then why wouldn't we each, collectively, share our processes in hopes of strengthening another's?

To untangle our knots instead of our knots feigning as currency.

To live with the intent of being the one who ties the carrot to the stick,

instead of the obedient animal pulling a cart.

Consider this a trigger warning, dear Reader.

I grew up in a chaotic situation.

We all did in one way or another.

I was a curious C student and skipped most of high school to be in the art studios. Classrooms that were so full of students I could easily be missed.

I went to a private art college with the intention of teaching.

At 19, a freshman, I was one of three people involved in a random act of gun violence.

I stopped.

I accidentally cut my hand using a bandsaw.

A fellow student (rightfully) saw my state and bandages, assumed I had attempted suicide and reported me to the college I was attending.

College offered me the ultimatum of mandatory therapy or resignation.

I don't like being forced.

I started working as a home aide to adults with disabilities.

I drove cross-country alone without a map and my cell phone off and in the trunk.

I picked up hitchhikers and learned about America.

Kyle said, 'Maybe I'll see you out here someday'

I tried college again with the intent of becoming a social worker.

I was unfocused and suffered from severe panic attacks.

I joined Ameri-Corps and began working in back country environmental conservation.

I graduated high school in 2007, and we're now up to, let's see... 2012? Must be.

I jumped off the societal train and became nomadic for a few years after.

The world moved on without me.

Mama Gaia didn't.

You didn't.

The renegades never will.

The need for us to process and share and commune never will.

The process of pushing our pieces around is built into each weaving.

An invitation.

What are we if not resilient?

There's a couple newbies in the shop that I'd love for you to meet.

A Heroine's Journey by Maureen Murdock has been on my mind and I've been studying it trying to find clarity during this transition into a new chapter.

There's lots of masculine and feminine essenses within all three of these works.

Hope you enjoy.

Give it a nudge if it's idle.

You're never alone.

Art always has your back.

Thank you for reading.

With big love,

Polaroid image of a flower's center atop a patterned fabric, handwritten on the photo is the artist's name in marker, Fibonaci's sequence

art that's there for you

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