How we might compose with the real and the imagined.
How that might happen.
Here I have combined one of my oldest baskets with a photo my son took.
And put some extra space into it.
There is touching and separateness. Held.
That is how I might explain it.
There were those hard seasons , the ones where things ripened more slowly and the sense of waiting seemed to overshadow the intense roundness in the flavor of the fruit. After so many cycles, she suddenly realized the nourishment that presented itself in the whole process. And she ate her days, was able to feel sustenance in the long time of going that stretched behind her and the growing sweetness of the days to come.
From The Year I Became Old