Dandelion Days

Spring came with a bite this year. March came with news of a precious life soon to be ending. April found us at the bedside of an altogether too large array of beloved relatives. There were hospital visits, doctors appointments, consultations and prognostications. May began with a funeral.

Yet the apples still blossomed, and May Day came with dancing and laughter. The sun shone, community gathered and love ruled over all.

We remembered that this is what life is; a journey through this world on our way to death. We don't know what strange and wonderful adventure that might be, but death is the one absolute certainty, so let us live; heartfully, hopefully, sensually, ecstatically, magically, deeply interwoven with all that is, understanding our interdependence, celebrating our consanguinity, fully remembering that we are ALIVE. Embodied.

Let our embodiment also be an emboldenment,

Let's grow wildly, medicinally, usefully, beautifully - as the dandelion does. Surviving, even thriving in all sorts of possibly harsh conditions.

I hope I may leave a mark in the hearts of those I love, but leave no stain on the planet that I love so much. That if I colour any part of existence it is with the pollen of something beautiful and nourishing, something that can become a healing nectar for those who partake of it. 

My prayer is that the wisdom I have gathered is something I am able to share. 

I am patient; I can spend the hours necessary to separate the sweet and succulent yellow petals from the bitter but necessary green.

Though it takes hours and hours. I do it in partnership with my beloved.

The work is absolutely worth the prize.

There's nothing to show for it yet.... but the dandelion wine that Fergus and I have been making will taste like summer in a bottle.

We'll drink a toast to those who have gone from here.

And we'll remember to love the time we have here, with all our hearts.