PAINTING WITH THE UNIVERSE
The mountains are home to the grandmothers. The mountains ARE the grandmothers. So many stories go untold if we don’t stop and sit and stare and listen. She waits. Taking her great deep inhale the stars tumble thru time. Falling at my feet they grow as celestial flowers. Tales of mountains, crackling fires, wing beats, thumping hearts. Let’s all gather to listen.