Some of the first sounds we hear are our parents’ voices, our family’s songs, and even years later their music can carry us home.

This Woman's Work

A tear falls down his cheek and the tear becomes a single drop of blood hitting the ground. They’re in the bedroom now, kissing.

We hope you’ll join us in stepping into a new fairytale. Welcome to the clearing—to the wildness—to The Family.

Thank goodness for art & thank goodness for you.

I find myself now more and more prolonging these moments of genrelessness: a few breaths in, filling my lungs with clarity.

Circles

When I listen to Maggie Rogers’ “Falling Water,” I always hear I never loved you fully in the way I could so deeply, completely.

Here’s to the ugly & the marvellous, loud enough to reach the edge of night.

When I think of the word hag, I think of the greying light beyond the horizon before a storm. I think of possibility hanging heavy in the air.

What if we encountered our bodies the way they are and said, “this is good enough”?

Eyes open; sunlight pressing its tired hopeful nose against the horizon.