The exhaustion for coherent words is too deep. A photo essay of sorts. Of shifts. Of joy. Of grief. Of community. Seasonal love to Spring. Dirt is my therapy.
Loved the essay. Writing about similar pulls to slow the fuck down, honor the loss that makes the season possible and move at our own pace in my last post on being snail-like. Happy to find such resonance.
Ah, soil is my therapy too! Nice to meet you. It looks like we're on the same path - system change!
To honoring all of our individual cycles! 🌓
Loved the essay. Writing about similar pulls to slow the fuck down, honor the loss that makes the season possible and move at our own pace in my last post on being snail-like. Happy to find such resonance.