The name Riverwood has a deep resonating history for me.  Let me explain.  There is something magical about a piece of wood that has lived in the river for a long time.  It has traveled and tumbled about as it slowly shapes itself; worn by the constant current.  Sometimes a piece of river wood will get stuck amongst rocks or logs while the water moves past it, until the wood is released to float downstream.  Along its way, the river bed rubs its edges and softens it over time. The piece of wood takes on a new character of its own, almost knowing one day it will be found.  Those who collect river wood often see it as something familiar to them.  Left up to the imagination, one might see it shaped as an elephant head, a bird, a snake or a witches hat.  The possibilities are endless.

There was a time, not long ago, when my family had a house on the Edisto River in South Carolina.  My parents, my sisters and their families had homes there too.  We used to gather at our river compound often to escape the hustle and bustle of everyday life. There, we could enjoy the rhythm and solitude of nature.  We no longer go there, but it still holds a special place in our hearts.

The Edisto River is a mystical place full of wildlife and magnificent trees.  The river itself is a blackwater river; beautiful picturesque reflections from the sky are bountiful.  If one wakes up early enough to see the sun rise, they are a witness to the fog rolling atop the surface of the water.  Water bugs skip across the surface to escape the mouths of hungry river life. This natural motion creates rings that resonate outward and glitter in the sun.  The birds seem to sing in harmony as fish jump every so often with a splash.  Mother Nature’s magic is ever present.  The evening also holds its own mystery.  Owls hoot and shadows climb across the water while fireflies dance within the wooded landscape.

Back then, my sister had a wondrous collection of river wood which she and other family members had found over the years.  The pieces lived on her porch that faced the river.  They were set atop ledges about the perimeter of the porch.   I loved to sit and look at her river wood collection.  Each piece held its own story, marked by the river.  When my children, nieces and nephews were younger, I used to think about those pieces of wood and imaged storybook characters of each one.  Often, I would make up stories about the characters to tell the children as bedtime stories.  My imagination was sparked by the journeys of the wood and the river life surrounding it.  Maybe, one day I will return to the beautiful Edisto River.

So, I chose the name Riverwood to capture the feeling that sparks my imagination.   My writing pays tribute to the life of the wood that comes from the river. It is a gift from the trees whose branches have fallen and journeyed towards transformation.  The art that I create and stories I that  write are reflective of the river wood journey; of the tumbling and shaping, of being stuck and released, of forming new shapes and of discovering new life.

Imagination is the source of creativity which plants the seeds to grow.  I hope you enjoy my works.