Art > Quilts

I walk a path that circles the meadow each summer, absorbing a balance of wild annual growth on one side with steadiness of enduring woodland on the other. Most of the trees are new growth, springing up in abandoned ground that had likely been cultivated a hundred years ago. But there is one tree amongst the gaggle of young trunks at the edge that stands out, calls to me each time I pass. She is older, perhaps a mother? I imagine she has absorbed moonlight from a time before the first settlers here. She feels that wise.