The children of the broken home – the motherless or fatherless home, the loveless home. The children born and raised without the containment of home, of family, of culture.

The uprooted children. The children of no-where, of no-land. The wandering in the desert, cradle in a basket up the river children.

The children never initiated, never trained into maturity. The grown-up children. The “adulting is hard” children. The “parenting our parents” children. The “where do we belong?” children. The “is it safe to open up and grow here?” children. The children who will do anything for love. The children with no healthy relationship to authority.

The hurting, wanting, needing children, who can twist, and take, and take. The forever hungry children. The backed into a corner children.

The children who do not know how to conduct themselves in a circle, in a culture, in a family, in love.

The children who do not know their connection, their place, their belonging with all that is.

The children digging in, reaching out to reconnect with age old chains that were broken.

The children gathering loose ends and weaving them together.

Twisting bark, warm beer and conversations in the park.