by CMCook | Jul 8, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s a particular kind of grief that doesn’t come with a funeral. No flowers. No casseroles. Just quiet absence. It’s the loss of someone who’s still out there, living, breathing, carrying on, but not in your life anymore. Maybe it was a slow fade. Maybe it was a...
by CMCook | Jun 19, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s something about a summertime sunset that speaks the same language as clay. Maybe it’s the way the sky slowly shifts from gold to ember, or the soft wash of rose that lingers just before night settles in. These skies feel familiar—like the inside of my kiln...
by CMCook | Jun 10, 2025 | fat cow studio
I found myself in my garden, surrounded by the flowers my mother once loved. This garden is mine—planted in my time, in my rhythm—but still, she’s here. Listening to the birdsong, I heard her laughter, soft and familiar. She was there in the dancing of the...
by CMCook | May 29, 2025 | fat cow studio
One year ago today, I stepped into retirement—though it didn’t begin the way I imagined. I was caring for my husband after his knee replacement, and just as he began healing, a serious blood infection set him back. Those early months were tough, but by September, he...
by CMCook | May 23, 2025 | fat cow studio
There’s a quiet kind of healing that happens when you stand beside a horse. It’s not loud or dramatic. It doesn’t come with fanfare or applause. It comes in stillness—in the soft exhale of a warm breath, the calm gaze of a deep brown eye, the rhythm of hooves meeting...
