For me, the greatest art sometimes come from my front yard, a democratic place without self-absorbed artists and writers, galleries and gatekeepers. Art has its own rules. I was thinking about the heat wave gripping the  farm – even Red is comatose – and I saw the hazy sun light up a flower hanging on the porch in a basket, red flowers behind it. It seemed holy to me, sacred, a call to life, a sacred spark, the light calling me to step out of fear, anger and judgement, to be my own person, to stand for love and light. To tell my story and encourage others to do the same.