When I paint, my heart returns to my backyard garden in Idaho, to all those layers, the careful hand digging with a garden fork. The layers are important. The slow remediation of the soil was hard work. Painting feels easier than that, but not on the days when I’m stuck. In the end, it’s the same intentional process of working through a season, season after season, and seeing what fruits emerge from the soil.

The first poem I had published outside of university featured wild sunflowers. They symbolize hope and resilience. I guess it’s time to lean in and start painting them.