“Her ashes are scattered under the oak tree in the southernmost farm fields.Louise remembered that tree from the tour with Laurent - firmly planted, ancient, maybe even wise, reaching for the sky. It seemed a tree that would share the secrets of the universe if one sat underneath its branches long enough, like the stories of the Buddha she'd heard in Sunday school as a kid.”
“Her ashes are scattered under the oak tree in the southernmost farm fields.Louise remembered that tree from the tour with Laurent - firmly planted, ancient, maybe even wise, reaching for the sky. It seemed a tree that would share the secrets of the universe if one sat underneath its branches long enough, like the stories of the Buddha she'd heard in Sunday school as a kid.”
Jessica Rosevear Fox
“Her ashes are scattered under the oak tree in the southernmost farm fields.Louise remembered that tree from the tour with Laurent - firmly planted, ancient, maybe even wise, reaching for the sky. It seemed a tree that would share the secrets of the universe if one sat underneath its branches long enough, like the stories of the Buddha she'd heard in Sunday school as a kid.”
Jessica Rosevear Fox, After the BalletAll in One Creative & Marketing Platform to tell stories at scale
