Artist, Writer, Woman, Mother, Healer, Teacher, Biohacker, Gardener, Friend, Entrepreneur
Her mirror never reflects the same image twice. Like breaths, she collects them, these visions. Inhale. Exhale. Feel the box expand. Some days with care, some days with ease, muscle memory keeps these bits of herself alive. Often they slip past before she notices, ocean waves, disintegrating like so much sand beneath her feet, consumed by something larger than herself. Other days they grow with the swell, crashing in, whitecaps on cool flesh.
Her mind, body, spirit extend as leaves growing bright and vivid, seek the sun. Never the same, always with a core that echo seasons of what once were and what could be again. This mulch is the story of her life. She collects decay and growth, items for burning, to keep warm when reflection fades and sunlight no longer reaches the depths. Her mirror reflects fire, dragon breath, a magnifying glass to burn away the things she chooses to forget.