I would not have predicted life stripping me of my words, carving the hieroglyphics of a deeper meaning on the walls of my soul, right before blasting them to bits, the ancient language pounded down into dust, filling the soil with a sweet sound brew and growing gardens one can only feel, hum, smile, hug, or even scream wordlessly.
But here it is, this stripping, as moments shape a landscape I call my life. A daughter in love. Heaven help me.
A son finding the drummer within and contending with life’s changes.
And in the middle. The older son with the hugs relentless, wielding a violin and a willfulness singing sweet individuality.
And all three riff on their guitars, uncovering a melody, something I can’t fathom, something their own, not mine. And it shines, gives me hope for a world roiling in transformation.