The Only Thing I Was Fit For

As a woman packs up her house and sorts through its history, she follows her imagination and the paper trail of long-buried secrets to dislodge the grip of memory and master the words for deeply engrained abuses and assuaging joys. She sifts through the attributes of wood, wind, snow, sea and place to celebrate the power of family and relationships, to delve the wisdom in world cultures, to document the pathos of ruthless local and national events, and to arrive at an acceptance of solitude amid hopes for a more gracious and embracive future society.