Walks with Asha Marilyn Webster

I made a map that tells a story – about where I’ve walked (and about getting to know wooded paths and trusting how I find my own way). 

When I failed to act on my desire to hold a ceremony for a beloved tree, I wrote this letter.

Listening to the whispered wisdom from leaves of an unfamiliar shrub encourage me to meet myself with tenderness as I explore the next iteration of my work. 

Two walks, two months, one place: When doubt, grief and anger became a key that unlocked wonder. 

Lying on a frozen pond, trusting the ice will hold me, feels akin to the decision-making  that took me away from the solid ground of the familiar.

“Norma,” my inner critic, visited while I lingered at the beaver meadow. Mary Oliver’s poetry helped me reclaim my enoughness.