So often the objects we gather around us are there to call us towards who we want to be & we forget that we already know that when we listen deeply enough.

This is not about things you don't know. This is about things you know so deeply you do not notice any more. About the voices of quiet things, of blood & bone & the way the trees speak when they are alone with only themselves. Things you know about all the living things around you (& yes, that means all the people you meet each day, with the ache of their sadness & the lilt of their joy & surely you did not think that was yours alone?)