Philadelphia finds me fitful after a restorative trip to Vermont. The threads of my spirit are woven through with pine needles which slip out of my hair and from the folds of my clothing now that I am back in urban climes; sometimes they soften into tears, reminding me of my first home. I will always be a country girl at heart, awash in solitary moments spent watching the landscape as if it were cinema.
The last photograph is the view from the living room couch in my parents' house, the first greeting for my sleepy eyes upon waking each morning. Soon to follow would be a hot cup of coffee from my Dad. Sometimes I lie in bed in the city with my eyes closed, retracing the way it felt to rise from sleep and see the rustling trees, alive with possibility, like a curtain wooshing open to reveal the passion play.