I am weaving a basket that will hold you. Year by year I build it up, connecting each year’s strand with only two knots. It is slow work, building a life, and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. I only know that each piece seems to find its place.

I start with the foundation of three – mother, father, sister – the triangle that frames your limits. And then we weave, through your childhood in Germany, your teenage years in Canada, the exuberance of 60’s London, and your life as a mother. Half of the strands are dedicated to the blood-red family years, criss-crossing and packing in close to you.

‘Only connect’ – a mantra that builds a web of complexity and intricacy, of support and of constraint. A trap? The freedom of the sunflower field is elusive fantasy. Life is entanglement. The tension is inherent and unavoidable. Without it there is no strength, no basket. Nothing to catch you if you fall.

A tiny thread – a word, a gesture – is enough to bind you to another, to the world. You feel how it is all connected, and revel in the wonder that supports us. In return the world elevates you and holds you up as something beautiful. Your form – a sliver of obsidian – is a precious piece of deep-Earth fire.

I secure you at the heart, bonded but not tied.

You are free to leave but you could never die alone. Your belonging to the world is evident.