You don’t choose to work with clay. It chooses you. There’s better things to do than turn your time on a spinning wheel, so you leave. And even then, you find yourself, on a cold spring morning after an endless winter, wedging clay, kneading it like mother’s bread, your body weight pressing it with eagerness,Continue reading “Tenmoku heart”
"May my body be for what it was intended: an expression of Your grace. And what small ways I make with this poetry – what songs and friendships I form, what migrations and ripples I disturb in the world – may they have something of Your signature on them"
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