“For in addition to following the cycles of life, I chronicle it. While there is not a typewriter, telephone, dictionary, or cool glass of lemonade by my hand, I have learned that wherever I am, I must tender that other life, the one of observation, play, imprint and desire that walks with me across the rolling hills beneath the shadows of the clouds. Like the young shoots that thrive in our alkaline soil, the words of my mind must be planted, hoed, watered, thinned and weeded to yield a bumper crop.”  ~ Wanda Rosseland