Flower Moon is a book so close to my heart. It's about two twin sisters, growing up and growing apart. It's about beginnings and endings, the push and pull between sisters, between friends, between childhood and the great tantalizing abyss of growing up.
Flower Moon's about Pa Charlie's traveling Peachtree Carnival, complete with a candy wagon, elephant ears, and a larger-than-life, lit-up Ferris wheel. There's an old horse named Antique, everybody's favorite friend named Digger, and a hush-hush Trimble family curse that's been secret for too long now.
And, of course, there's magic. Just tiny slivers of magic, splinters really, like the last sparks of a dying firework playing against the darkened night sky-- were they really there? or was it a trick of the eye? Flower Moon is full of that magic. You know, the kind you don't really acknowledge. You don't look at it head-on. We only give it the side-eye, squinting at it, keeping it a half-secret from even ourselves.
It's about those moments, quiet and still, when we acknowledge our truest selves, deep inside that most secret, locked place inside our hearts. And we acknowledge our own power, our own magic, and what it is that we might dare to become.
These are a few of the images that remind me of Flower Moon:
