This painting was made for our entrance hall — the first thing you see when you come home.

At its heart stands a great tree, one half in autumn flame, the other in spring green — the seasons of a life, held in a single canopy. Around it turns a mandala of medallions, each holding a piece of our story: Table Mountain in Cape Town, where we come from; an Indian sari for my heritage; tartan for my husband's Scottish roots; and an eagle for America, where we live now. At the bottom stands our daughter, between both worlds, in a dress half Indian and half Scottish.

Beneath the tree, resting in its shade, are our furry babies who have gone before us — Pixie, our beloved dog; Tat, our very first baba, the black kitty; and Tao, who was still beside me while I painted this piece and left us soon after it was done. And if you look very closely, you'll find Jingles, our daughter's little hamster, tucked in just in front of Pixie's paw. They are not gone from the story. They are part of its roots.

At the crown the lotus opens — my spiritual journey, mandala by mandala, towards enlightenment. Framed by Indian temple pillars, and watched over by deer and springbok, the painting is a blessing over everyone who enters our home: everything we love remains part of the tree.