Listen Deep.

Maia’s songs possess the intense beauty of mottled light. Shadows and sharp illuminations dance, swirl, give birth, and die together– always against a backdrop of longing and repose. To call them nature songs, or fables, misses the way her songs rise from her body’s memory of the earth. Yes, there are crows, daffodils, tidal swells, and oceans. But these are not just symbols: they are the feelings of a lone traveler who has spent years in ritual communion with the forests and oceans of the South. As a singer, she is a friend who holds your hand and sustains your eye contact– a fellow seeker who knows your travails because she has gone through them. Even her greyest storm cloud has outlines– and it is her seeing these dynamic distinctions, and putting words to them, that brings this shared darkness to life. Her lineage –the poetry of Mary Oliver and Rumi, the stories of Isabel Allende, the songs of Joni Mitchell and Natalie Merchant– confirm for us that all tenderness is benedictory. Her songs are the illuminated wisdom of a traveler. .