Mj Pettengill

May we always care about the truth. And may we not allow fear to lead the way.

...bringing me home to Cold River.

...may this food provide strength and energy for our tired limbs and good thoughts for our weary minds...

“I am with child.” My temples pounded. All strength was gone.

It is time to rest, to reflect on the past season, find the creative, dark womb, and curl up beside the fire.

The primary source of collective and individual trauma related to the County Farm is rooted in profound unawareness.

Unlike the traditional auction, the pauper was sold to the lowest bidder.

I had never played for such a vast and diverse audience—on both sides of the fence—it mattered not that they were, in fact, dead.

It is unnecessary to wait for what we perceive as the perfect opportunity or the right conditions.

We tend to go with the flow but have no idea where the river leads.

She said that only very special people had a monocle curl and that they saw things differently.

Imagine sitting in the middle of a field of anonymous graves with nothing to go on but intuition.

The trees help old souls reach out to me, begging for their stories to be told. Until that time, it is they who need consoling.

I stood and watched until Death’s cart was out of sight. I was not afraid. I could not say what I felt, but it was not fear.

Remembering a barn and entering it is to remember my heart and enter my soul. I am confident that a wide assortment of thoughts and ideas...

What did it mean to win or lose?

Tho’ I knew that mornin’ had indeed arrived, its general nature had gone wrong.

Poor wretched Outcast! I will weep for thee, And sorrow for forlorn humanity.

Had I left the fireflies alone, our stories may have taken a different turn.

I am a historical whistleblower. It's what I do...