
“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”
(Julian of Norwich)
Julian of Norwich, a contemporary of Chaucer, is credited with doing for prose what Chaucer did for poetry: Writing in English instead of Latin. She lived as an anchoress and wrote of her visions. She heard from God that all shall be well.
Next to Julian of Norwich, in a wishing season, is another woman grounded in what she terms “the simple rituals and practices that deeply connect us to the more-than-human world.”
”… I let the tree know about my presence before making contact by closing my eyes and whispering words — hola, ¿puedo acercarme? hello, can I approach?”
(Leonora Simonovis, Poetry, December 2025)
Leonora Simonovis’s mother died in Caracas, Venezuela in 2021. From San Diego, CA, Simonovis recalls her mother’s genius for nurturing plants: In the ravines around our neighborhood, she’d prop up weaker plants with stakes, so they were supported as they grew, and check on them periodically, softly whispering words of encouragement.
She concludes:
I live far from my roots, but I firmly believe this land where I live now is firmly connected to the one I once called home — by the roots of trees, by migrating species, by the mycorrhizal networks that expand and weave entire communities of living beings under the earth.
(c) 2025 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved



















‘Earrings for a Giraffe’
“Dance is joy, longing, crying, laughing, everything,” Asawa wrote. She translated this spirit into paintings and drawings of dancers — floating abstracted figure-eight forms. Credit… Ian C. Bates for The New York Times. [New York Times caption and illustration]
In 1948, American artist Ruth Asawa (d. 2013, age 87) took classes at Black Mountain College in North Carolina with the dancer Merce Cunningham. Her mentor there was the architect Buckminster Fuller.
Ruth Asawa (second from left) with visitors to her 1973 retrospective at the San Francisco Museum of Art (now SFMOMA). Her looped-wire forms made of pliable copper, brass or steel resembled her early drawings of dancers, floating abstracted figure-eight forms, nipped at the center with spherical heads and bodies. Credit… Laurence Cuneo. [New York Times caption and illustration]
She used a knit stitch by hand, which she learned from a local wire-basket maker on a 1947 trip to Mexico, to draw in space and define volumes with a continuous line of pliable copper, brass or steel.
Ruth Asawa, “Untitled (S.046a-d, Hanging Group of Four, Two-Lobed Forms),” 1961. “We made endless hourglass figures that I now see as the forms within the forms in my crocheted wire sculptures,” she said of her youthful drawings in the dirt. Credit… Ian C. Bates for The New York Times. [New York Times caption and illustration]
Asawa maintained that artists weren’t special; they were just ordinary people who could “take ordinary things and make them special,” she said. “I always had my studio in my house because I wanted my children to understand what I do and I wanted to be there if they needed me — or a peanut butter sandwich.”
Asawa’s “Untitled (PF.293, Bouquet from Anni Albers)” is ink on paper from the early 1990s. Credit… Ruth Asawa Lanier, Inc./David Zwirner; via Christie’s. [New York Times caption and illustration]
(Hilarie M. Sheets, “Ruth Asawa’s Astonishing Universe Began at Her Door,” New York Times, 4-4-25)
(c) 2025 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved