I have always felt a deep and personal connection to the cool, dampening mystery of Autumn. Shadows lengthen; and the trees draw in the last fading flickers of light, only to throw them back into the world before resigning themselves to the long, dark, healing sleep of Winter.

Leaves once green – now red and gold – whither and fade to brown, and the trees turn their attention towards the letting go of that which no longer serves them. . . and then they will rest; gathering their strength for next year’s growth.

Working with the bodies of dying trees makes tangible the transformative qualities of the cycle of death and rebirth. While it is certainly my hands and tools that shape these items, one could also argue that these are simply the means through which they enter the world.

Viewed from this perspective, my role in all of this seems far less that of creator than of midwife. . .