For the past two weeks an image has been appearing in my minds eye. A mental snapshot of a very meaningful and moving experience I had as a child.
An image that has reoccured throughout my life, from the time I was a young girl.
I’ve shared this story many times, but never really understood the significance until this morning.
I was about 7 or 8, I decided to tag along with my father to pick up some court transcripts from a co-worker (he was a stenographer) As we arrived at our destination, I felt this sense of belonging for the first time in my short life. There was a certain familiarity here, a connection.
As we pulled up the drive at the end of a narrow oak lined street, I saw her standing there under a massive, twisted oak tree, easel set up, merrily painting away, carefree and focused…
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