Stone, thistle, sand, sky. The edges of the earth come quickly at golden hour. All is quiet but the warning cries of the prairie dogs and the wind through the canyons. Sterling Silver on Desert sand.
The memory has no point of reference. The texture and smell are the same. The wind is exaggerated by it, jealous even, of its gentleness. Sterling Silver on mama.
The way we adorn ourselves is a manifestation of a second skin— a set of tools, or armor, even. It is a way of sensory grounding, and a reminder of our elemental makeup.
The technical, the miniature machine. Each piece fits together with telltale signs of human touch.