glow in the woods
I’ve never done much for any purpose outside my own needs and impulses. Tonight, I feel like I’m a hundred feet tall. When people create something bigger than themselves the analogy is always birth. Labour of love, my baby, gestation. But this was easy. The women, the concept, the plethora of ideas and must-dos and insight and reflection all clicking into place beautifully, as birth has not always done for us. Go to Glow in the Woods today and wish us a happy birthday, won’t you?
Tell your mama-friends about us—those mamas of lost babies who may need our company, and whose company we need too. Help us reach out through the storm, to bring another inside-out soul some warmth and companionship. Because if I can pass on just a sliver of the light that you've sent into my darkness in the past year, I will have done a good thing.
For mamas of still babies, tiny babies, lost potential of all kinds. In the beginning you stagger, disoriented, through this storm. We want to be a glow through the trees, a golden refuge of log and glass. Stumble up the steps, shake off the snow and the crust and the stiffness, cross the threshold to be encircled by figures welcoming, nodding, easing you to a roaring fire and piping hot tea and wine and whoopie pies and whatever else warms you from the inside out. Sink into a battered old sofa, tuck your feet under your legs, a woodsmokey quilt around your shoulders, fingers wrapped around a hot mug, and be with us.