The simple act of doing opens creative channels. Time is measured only by the sifted buckets of volcanic ash. I sieve long enough in one place that ants march freely across my feet. Unharried work opens my mind to imagination. Unspoken ties connecting me to clay strengthen and clear a path for thoughtful awareness of my surrounding.
Birds call to one another from across an open field.
I stop to listen to their hellos, and I am impressed by the multitudes of life cycles thriving continuously on just an ordinary day. I remember her nimble fingers curving in and around smooth surfaced bowls. As a child I was her helper, learning the skill and method of pottery from her example. There were never measurements or formal instruction, rather stories introducing Nan chu Kweejo's powerful presence, and motherly advice about my sagging jars or crooked bowls. Gia's manner of instruction, cultural teachings, and spirited determination planted the seed of dreaming an idea and cultivating it to fruition.