When we were without a home for the second time, the crushing grind of circumstantial resistance as I would show up each day to push against it weighed heavily upon me.
I kept battling back thoughts of self doubt and considerations of my being unworthy while attempting to sail well through existential crisis.
Did I have a right to assert my claim for a home? Was it foolish or important to keep holding on to this ideal of a throne?
My subjects kept on a hillside awaited through heat and then rain. Now as I water our garden, we praise life together again.
Candid Corvid Productions 