Writing for the Season You’re In

The Fisherman lives between two worlds. Above her is the visible world: sky, wind, boat, shoreline. Beneath her is another realm, alive with movement she cannot fully see. She casts

The Blacksmith works with iron. Hard. Resistant. Unyielding. She cannot shape it simply because she wishes it to be different. First, it must enter the fire. Under sufficient heat, something

The Weaver works with tension. Before there can be cloth, the warp must be held taut upon the loom. Then another thread begins its journey across it. Over. Under. Over.

The Farmer does not look at the field and see only the crop. She sees the soil beneath it. The rain that has fallen and the rain that has not.

The Shepherdess walks differently through the world. She is attentive without being uncertain. She notices the weather gathering at the horizon, the change in the land beneath her feet, the

The Hunter carries a weapon capable of extraordinary precision. But before the arrow is released, another question matters more: Whose will is directing it? In Snow White, the Huntsman enters

The Healer begins by seeing the whole. For Steiner, illness could not be understood by looking only at the place where something hurt. The human being had to be perceived

Before anything is built, something must first be perceived. The artist knows this. There is often a moment before the work has taken form when she can sense something that

The Shoemaker makes shoes for walking. There is something beautifully earthly in this work. Leather is measured, cut, shaped, stitched, and joined to the sole. What emerges is made for