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It’s made almost entirely of goat hair, is only about 1 1/2 inches across, and I can barely feel the weight of it in my hand. A miracle of construction and efficient in its purpose. Not flashy, not stately or even very sturdy. It wouldn’t last a Saskatchewan winter.

He brought it in for me, rather than mow over it, because he knew I’d love it. And I do.

I love it for its simplicity. I love the sweet bowl, the cradle of it, and I imagine the tiny babies that would have nestled in it, covered by breast or wing until, growing big and getting crowded, they fly.

Everything that is mommy in me feels the pull of this tiny sculptured home.

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I’m working on a wee book about Home. Not about decluttering or decorating. Not really. More about loving. Maybe you’ll read it when I’m done? And think of me, pray for me even, as I try to squeeze bits of creativity and writing time into my days.

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