Inside tiny bottles, the girls and I have been creating little worlds. We’ve fallen in love with terrariums, particularly those of the smallest variety.
My interest in these little jars of life seems somehow tied up with my recent questions over my work and my future. It is as if I can let myself imagine a series of different worlds — each completely contained. While my fingers are occupied with tiny bits of moss and lichen, I sift through possibilities in my mind and imagine a dozen different paths. How can I be simultaneously so centered and so utterly unsure?
One by one, we’ve given the terrariums away, and I’ve watched the bottles on our window stills and dinning room table dwindle . . .
What will I do when I am left with just one? One container? One life?