Apr 13, 2020
3 min read
The Kaleidoscope in My Window
on rest and (re)production
My kaleidoscopic bits are refracting, folding in on themselves, wriggling from my center. I am aware now, they are not always pretty. In my women’s circle of Crones, greying, their soft edges well over seventy, I am told “you are pretty, now is just a time to be,” when I express my fears are no longer trapped in the materiality of what I have or do not have now or…
