I woke up thinking of the garden, which is as it should be. Of putting my hands to the crumbly dark earth and meeting its creatures living there. Of plants: the cutting back of old growth, the tender green shoots emerging, made suddenly more visible, more hopeful.
What a benediction to read this on Easter morning. Your writing touches me, as a woman, a writer, a raised Catholic atheist who finds religion in the sun and soil, in the coaxing of life out of seeds. Thank you. I can not wait to savor your words in a book.
Your writing is for me hauntingly and soothingly beautiful, taking me deep into rich ideas and places in the most lyrical way. I cannot wait to read your book.
What a benediction to read this on Easter morning. Your writing touches me, as a woman, a writer, a raised Catholic atheist who finds religion in the sun and soil, in the coaxing of life out of seeds. Thank you. I can not wait to savor your words in a book.
🧡✨✨ what a gift to read this this morning
Your writing is for me hauntingly and soothingly beautiful, taking me deep into rich ideas and places in the most lyrical way. I cannot wait to read your book.