What is this working in clay, this making?
When I was seven, I made my mother the most beautiful pink angel. Beautiful. Pink. Angel. I remember that Christmas morning so clearly, the thrill of knowing I was about to give my mom this remarkable gift. Decades later, when cleaning out my parents’ home, there she was, tucked away in a dusty closet. And it was, well, see for yourself. In a life filled to the brim, it had been saved. Discovering it flooded me with that seven-year-old’s earnestness and desire to make something for someone I love.
