Over the past four years, we have shared our thoughts with each other and those who have joined us along the way. Over time, we have discovered deep connections, similar fears and dreams, an appreciation for life with all its hardships and its joys, and a rooting in the ever-changing seasons. It has been a journey of opening our hearts, taking off our masks, and being forthright with our words and photographs. The best thing I will take with me is the knowledge that I am not alone, even when I may feel that way. Strangers from different locales and different backgrounds, and yet strangers no more. We have more in common than we could have guessed. I thank each of you for your soul-sharing, those of us who posted pictures and musings, and those who were consistent readers and offered your thoughts as well. I, too, better understand the meaning of community, and it is not limited to where you live. Thank you, my sisters.
Kneading the clay. Centering. Forming the pot. Firing. Pottery metaphors for life have been used a hundred, a thousand times. Maybe there is nothing new I can say. I can only watch in silence, hoping my pot will make it through the heat, the ashes, the cooling stage. Hoping my pot will be made more beautiful by the fire. Hoping I will have something to show for my efforts. And, if it cracks, hoping I will have at least learned something in the process.
Walking down the street in Boulder, Colorado.
This guy stopped me in my tracks. Cracked me up. Such a whimsical piece of art.
Much of the time I take life much too seriously. So today I want to say thank to an anonymous artist, and thank you to the shopkeeper who placed this guy out on the sidewalk. You made my day.