My Aunt Debbie is a beautiful artist:
There are many days I lament my lack of time for artistic endeavors. I want to curl up by the fire and write. I look longingly at stacks of reed and oak handles and imagine the basket, I want to dust off my guitar and play until my fingers are calloused. But truthfully my most consistent art these days is found in the poetry of living. I have to confess. I am more and more appreciative of the piece I’m sculpting.
