a sprig of Hydrangea in a tiny bud vase from Fire Bird Beads
with stones gathered by Bronwyn Berman in her travels this year
shifting focus changing the point of view letting the old year go
just finished reading Terry Tempest William’s “When Women Were Birds”
this line “I am a woman with wings dancing with other women with wings” from page 129 resonated deeply
we are singing love and hope and healing into our beautiful broken world
namaste
shifting focus changing the point of view letting the old year go
Posted: December 26, 2018 by Mo Crow in friends, It's Crow Time, The GatheringTags: inspiration
Comments
It's Crow Time 
Beautiful. Perhaps in the new year, I will have time to check into this book. I would like to fly!
(((Nancy))) I gave it to myself for xmas via Book Depository as Terry’s work is not on the shelves here in our libraries or book shops, I’m 17th in the queue at the library for reading Michelle Obama’s “Becoming”!
Michelle Obama’s book was a wonderful read … her voice strong and true
(((Liz))) I look forward to reading it!
On your recommendation I picked up her ‘beauty in a broken world’. It’s in my pile for the new year. Peace to you, too!
(((Dee))) Terry Tempest Williams finds beauty in the darkest of places, it’s a tough read but these are dark times
I have long pondered how each shell is the life’s work of its inhabitant … and here those same life works entombed in stone. Forever-ness.
(Liz))) Australia is the oldest continent the fossils tell stories of deep time
I am a woman with wings dancing with other women with wings……..
Yes thats you Mo, dancing on love filled air…………
(((Martine))) with wings made of love stitch by stitch
When Women Were Birds is one of my favorite books. I may have mentioned that before. 🙂 The sun will be up in a bit here…think I need to go out and dance a bit.
(((Deb))) you did indeed and I finally have my very own copy to read over and over again!
I could stare at hydrangeas for ever – their colour, their petals, their stems…and yes TTW is amazing.
(((Fiona)) Hydrangeas hold the blue of longing